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STORIES FROM TAGORE 


I 


* 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 


j 


it 


Stories from Tagore 


Jl3eto gotk 

The Macmillan Company 


1918 

A.U rights reserve A 






Copyright 1916 and 1918 
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 



Set up and electrotyped. Published, October, 1918 


OCT 30 1918 ¥ 

\ 

© Cl. A 5 0 6 3 6 8 O' 


/vt^O -V* 


PREFACE 


Every experienced teacher must have noticed the 
difficulty of instructing Indian children out of books 
that are specially intended for use in English schools. 
It is not merely that the subjects are unfamiliar, but 
almost every phrase has English associations that 
are strange to Indian ears. The environment in 
which they are written is unknown to the Indian 
school boy and his mind becomes overburdened with 
its details which he fails to understand. He cannot 
give his whole attention to the language and thus 
master it quickly. 

The present Indian story-book avoids some at least 
of these impediments. The surroundings described 
in it are those of the students’ everyday life; the 
sentiments and characters are familiar. The stories 
are simply told, and the notes at the end will be suf- 
ficient to explain obscure passages. It should be pos- 
sible for the Indian student to follow the pages of 
the book easily and intelligently. Those students 
who have read the stories in the original will have 
the further advantage of knowing beforehand the 
whole trend of the narrative and thus they will be 


PREFACE 

able to concentrate their thoughts on the English 
language itself. 

It is proposed to publish together in a single 
volume the original stories whose English transla- 
tions are given in this Reader. Versions of the same 
stories in the different Indian vernaculars have al- 
ready appeared, and others are likely to follow. 

Two of the longest stories in this book — “ Master 
Mashai ” and “ The Son of Rashmani ” — are re- 
produced in English for the first time. The rest of 
the stories have been taken, with slight revision, from 
two English volumes entitled “ The Hungry Stones ” 
and “ Mashi.” A short paragraph has been added 
from the original Bengali at the end of the story 
called “ The Postmaster.” This was unfortunately 
omitted in the first English edition. 

The list of words to be studied has been chosen 
from each story in order to bring to notice different 
types of English words. The lists are in no sense 
exhaustive. The end in view has been to endeavour 
to create an interest in Indian words and their his- 
tory, which may lead on to further study. 


CONTENTS 


_ _ PAGE 

1 HE CAB U LI WALLAH 3 

The Home-Coming 21 

Once there was a King 35 

The Child’s Return 51 

Master Mashai 69 

Subha 101 

The Postmaster 115 

The Castaway 129 

The Son of Rashmani 15 1 

The Babus of Nayanjore 203 

Notes 223 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


I 

THE CABULIWALLAH 

My five years’ old daughter Mini cannot live without 
chattering. I really believe that in all her life she 
has not wasted a minute in silence. Her mother is 
often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle, but I 
would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, and I 
cannot bear it long. And so my own talk with her is 
always lively. 

One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst 
of the seventeenth chapter of my new novel, my little 
Mini stole into the room, and putting her hand into 
mine, said: “Father! Ramdayal the door-keeper 
calls a crow a krow! He doesn’t know anything, 
does he? ” 

Before I could explain to her the differences of 
language in this world, she was embarked on the full 
tide of another subject. “ What do you think, 
Father? Bhola says there is an elephant in the 
3 


4 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


clouds, blowing water out of his trunk, and that is 
why it rains ! ” 

And then, darting off anew, while I sat still making 
ready some reply to this last saying: “Father! 
what relation is Mother to you? ” 

With a grave face I contrived to say: “ Go and 
play with Bhola, Mini ! I am busy ! ” 

The window of my room overlooks the road. 
The child had seated herself at my feet near my table, 
and was playing softly, drumming on her knees. I 
was hard at work on my seventeenth chapter, where 
Pratap Singh, the hero, had just caught Kanchanlata, 
the heroine, in his arms, and was about to escape with 
her by the third-story window of the castle, when 
all of a sudden Mini left her play, and ran to the 
window, crying: “A Cabuliwallah ! a Cabuliwal- 
lah ! ” Sure enough in the street below was a 
Cabuliwallah, passing slowly along. He wore the 
loose, soiled clothing of his people, with a tall tur- 
ban; there was a bag on his back, and he carried 
boxes of grapes in his hand. 

I cannot tell what were my daughter’s feelings at 
the sight of this man, but she began to call him 
loudly. “ Ah! ” I thought, “ he will come in, and 
my seventeenth chapter will never be finished ! ” At 
which exact moment the Cabuliwallah turned, and 
looked up at the child. When she saw this, over- 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


5 


come by terror, she fled to her mother’s protection 
and disappeared. She had a blind belief that in- 
side the bag, which the big man carried, there were 
perhaps two or three other children like herself. 
The pedlar meanwhile entered my doorway and 
greeted me with a smiling face. 

So precarious was the position of my hero and 
my heroine, that my first impulse was to stop and buy 
something, since the man had been called. I made 
some small purchases, and a conversation began about 
Abdurrahman, the Russians, the English, and the 
Frontier Policy. 

As he was about to leave, he asked: “ And where 
is the little girl, sir? ” 

And I, thinking that Mini must get rid of her 
false fear, had her brought out. 

She stood by my chair, and looked at the Cabuli- 
wallah and his bag. He offered her nuts and raisins, 
but she would not be tempted, and only clung the 
closer to me, with all her doubts increased. 

This was their first meeting. 

One morning, however, not many days later, as 
I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, 
seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talk- 
ing, with the great Cabuliwallah at her feet. In 
all her life, it appeared, my small daughter had never 
found so patient a listener, save her father. And 


6 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with 
almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor. “ Why 
did you give her those ? ” I said, and taking out an 
eight-anna bit, I handed it to him. The man ac- 
cepted the money without demur, and slipped it into 
his pocket. 

Alas, on my return an hour later, I found the un- 
fortunate coin had made twice its own worth of 
trouble ! For the Cabuliwallah had given it to Mini ; 
and her mother, catching sight of the bright round 
object, had pounced on the child with: “Where 
did you get that eight-anna bit?” 

“ The Cabuliwallah gave it me,” said Mini cheer- 
fully. 

“ The Cabuliwallah gave it you ! ” cried her 
mother much shocked. “ O Mini ! how could you 
take it from him? ” 

I, entering at the moment, saved her from impend- 
ing disaster, and proceeded to make my own in- 
quiries. 

It was not the first or second time, I found, that 
the two had met. The Cabuliwallah had overcome 
the child’s first terror by a judicious bribery of nuts 
and almonds, and the two were now great friends. 

They had many quaint jokes, which afforded them 
much amusement. Seated in front of him, looking 
down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny dignity, 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


7 


Mini would ripple her face with laughter and begin: 
“ O Cabuliwallah ! Cabuliwallah ! what have you 
got in your bag? ” 

And he would reply, in the nasal accents of the 
mountaineer: “An elephant!” Not much cause 
for merriment, perhaps; but how they both enjoyed 
the fun ! And for me, this child’s talk with a grown- 
up man had always in it something strangely fas- 
cinating. 

Then the Cabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, 
would take his turn: “Well, little one, and when 
are you going to the father-in-law’s house? ” 

Now most small Bengali maidens havejieard long 
ago about the father-in-law’s house; but we, being 
a little new-fangled, had kept these things from our 
child, and Mini at this question must have been a 
trifle bewildered. But she would not show it, and 
with ready tact replied: “ Are you going there? ” 

Amongst men of the Cabuliwallah’s class, how- 
ever, it is well known that the words father-in-law’s 
house have a double meaning. It is a euphemism for 
jail , the place where we are well cared for, at no ex- 
pense to ourselves. In this sense would the sturdy 
pedlar take my daughter’s question. “ Ah,” he 
would say, shaking his fist at an invisible policeman, 
“I will thrash my father-in-law!” Hearing this, 
and picturing the poor discomfited relative, Mini 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


would go off into peals of laughter, in which her 
formidable friend would join. 

These were autumn mornings, the very time of 
year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and 
I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, 
would let my mind wander over the whole world. 
At the very name of another country, my heart would 
go out to it, and at the sight of a foreigner in the 
streets, I would fall to weaving a network of dreams, 
— the mountains, the glens, and the forests of his 
distant home, with his cottage in its setting, and the 
free and independent life of far-away wilds. Per- 
haps the scenes of travel conjure themselves up be- 
fore me and pass and repass in my imagination all 
the more vividly, because I lead such a vegetable ex- 
istence that a call to travel would fall upon me like a 
thunder-bolt. In the presence of this Cabuliwallah 
I was immediately transported to the foot of arid 
mountain peaks, with narrow little defiles twisting in 
and out amongst their towering heights. I could 
see the string of camels bearing the merchandise, and 
the company of turbanned merchants carrying some 
their queer old firearms, and some their spears, 
journeying downward towards the plains. I could 
see — . But at some such point Mini’s mother would 
intervene, imploring me to “ beware of that man.” 

Mini’s mother is unfortunately a very timid lady. 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


9 


Whenever she hears a noise in the street, or sees 
people coming towards the house, she always jumps 
to the conclusion that they are either thieves, or 
drunkards, or snakes, or tigers, or malaria, or cock- 
roaches, or caterpillars. Even after all these years 
of experience, she is not able to overcome her terror. 
So she was full of doubts about the Cabuliwallah, and 
used to beg me to keep a watchful eye on him. 

I tried to laugh her fear gently away, but then 
she would turn round on me seriously, and ask me 
solemn questions : — 

Were children never kidnapped? 

Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in 
Cabul ? 

Was it so very absurd that this big man should be 
able to carry off a tiny child? 

I urged that, though not impossible, it was highly 
improbable. But this was not enough, and her dread 
persisted. As it was indefinite, however, it did not 
seem right to forbid the man the house, and the inti- 
macy went on unchecked. 

Once a year in the middle of January Rahmun, the 
Cabuliwallah, was in the habit of returning to his 
country, and as the time approached he would be 
very busy, going from house to house collecting his 
debts. This year, however, he could always find 
time to come and see Mini. It would have seemed 


10 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


to an outsider that there was some conspiracy be- 
tween the two, for when he could not come in the 
morning, he would appear in the evening. 

Even to me it was a little startling now and then, 
in the corner of a dark room, suddenly to surprise 
this tall, loose-garmented, much bebagged man; but 
when Mini would run in smiling, with her “ O 
Cabuliwallah ! Cabuliwallah ! ” and the two friends, 
so far apart in age, would subside into their old 
laughter and their old jokes, I felt reassured. 

One morning, a few days before he had made up 
his mind to go, I was correcting my proof sheets in 
my study. It was chilly weather. Through the 
window the rays of the sun touched my feet, and 
the slight warmth was very welcome. It was almost 
eight o’clock, and the early pedestrians were return- 
ing home with their heads covered. All at once I 
heard an uproar in the street, and, looking out, saw 
Rahmun being led away bound between two police- 
men, and behind them a crowd of curious boys. 
There were blood-stains on the clothes of the Cabuli- 
wallah, and one of the policemen carried a knife. 
Hurrying out, I stopped them, and inquired what it 
all meant. Partly from one, partly from another, I 
gathered that a certain neighbour had owed the ped- 
lar something for a Rampuri shawl, but had falsely 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


ii 


denied having bought it, and that in the course of the 
quarrel Rahmun had struck him. Now, in the heat 
of his excitement, the prisoner began calling his en- 
emy all sorts of names, when suddenly in a verandah 
of my house appeared my little Mini, with her usual 
exclamation: “ O Cabuliwallah ! Cabuliwallah ! ” 
Rahmun’s face lighted up as he turned to her. He 
had no bag under his arm to-day, so she could not 
discuss the elephant with him. She at once therefore 
proceeded to the next question : “ Are you going to 

the father-in-law’s house?” Rahmun laughed and 
said: “ Just where I am going, little one ! ” Then, 
seeing that the reply did not amuse the child, he held 
up his fettered hands. “ Ah! ” he said, “ I would 
have thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands 
are bound ! ” 

On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmun was 
sentenced to some years’ imprisonment. 

Time passed away and he was not remembered. 
The accustomed work in the accustomed place was 
ours, and the thought of the once free mountaineer 
spending his years in prison seldom or never occurred 
to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed 
to say, forgot her old friend. New companions 
filled her life. As she grew older, she spent more 
of her time with girls. So much time indeed did 


12 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


she spend with them that she came no more, as she 
used to do, to her father’s room. I was scarcely 
on speaking terms with her. 

Years had passed away. It was once more au- 
tumn and we had made arrangements for our Mini’s 
marriage. It was to take place during the Puja Hol- 
idays. With Durga returning to Kailas, the light of 
our home also was to depart to her husband’s house, 
and leave her father’s in the shadow. 

The morning was bright. After the rains, there 
was a sense of ablution in the air, and the sun-rays 
looked like pure gold. So bright were they, that 
they gave a beautiful radiance even to the sordid 
brick walls of our Calcutta lanes. Since early dawn 
that day the wedding-pipes had been sounding, and 
at each beat my own heart throbbed. The wail of 
the tune, Bhairavi, seemed to intensify my pain at 
the approaching separation. My Mini was to be 
married that night. 

From early morning noise and bustle had per- 
vaded the house. In the courtyard the canopy had 
to be slung on its bamboo poles; the chandeliers with 
their tinkling sound must be hung in each room and 
verandah. There was no end of hurry and excite- 
ment. I was sitting in my study, looking through the 
accounts, when some one entered, saluting respect- 
fully, and stood before me. It was Rahmun the 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


i3 


Cabuliwallah. At first I did not recognise him. He 
had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the same vigour 
that he used to have. But he smiled, and I knew 
him again. 

“ When did you come, Rahmun? ” I asked him. 

“ Last evening,” he said, “ I was released from 
jail.” 

The words struck harsh upon my ears. I had 
never before talked with one who had wounded his 
fellow, and my heart shrank within itself when I 
realised this; for I felt that the day would have been 
better-omened had he not turned up. 

“ There are ceremonies going on,” I said, “ and 
I am busy. Could you perhaps come another day? ” 

At once he turned to go; but as he reached the 
door he hesitated, and said: “ May I not see the 
little one, sir, for a moment? ” It was his belief that 
Mini was still the same. He had pictured her run- 
ning to him as she used, calling “ O Cabuliwallah ! 
Cabuliwallah!” He had imagined too that they 
would laugh and talk together, just as of old. In 
fact, in memory of former days he had brought, care- 
fully wrapped up in paper, a few almonds and raisins 
and grapes, obtained somehow from a countryman; 
for his own little fund was dispersed. 

I said again: “ There is a ceremony in the house, 
and you will not be able to see any one to-day.” 


14 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


The man’s face fell. He looked wistfully at me 
for a moment, then said “ Good morning,” and went 
out. 

I felt a little sorry, and would have called him 
back, but I found he was returning of his own accord. 
He came close up to me holding out his offerings with 
the words : “ I brought these few things, sir, for 

the little one. Will you give them to her? ” 

I took them and was going to pay him, but he 
caught my hand and said: “ You are very kind, sir ! 
Keep me in your recollection. Do not offer me 
money! — You have a little girl: I too have one like 
her in my own home. I think of her, and bring fruits 
to your child — not to make a profit for myself.” 

Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose 
robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of 
paper. With great care he unfolded this, and 
smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It 
bore the impression of a little hand. Not a photo- 
graph. Not a drawing. The impression of an ink- 
smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of 
his own little daughter had been always on his heart, 
as he had come year after year to Calcutta to sell his 
wares in the streets. 

Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a 
poor Cabuli fruit-seller, while I was — . But no, 
what was I more than he? He also was a father. 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


i5 


That impression of the hand of his little Parbati in 
her distant mountain home reminded me of my own 
little Mini. 

I sent for Mini immediately from the inner apart- 
ment. Many difficulties were raised, but I would not 
listen. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, 
with the sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned 
as a young bride, Mini came, and stood bashfully 
before me. 

The Cabuliwallah looked a little staggered at the 
apparition. He could not revive their old friend- 
ship. At last he smiled and said: “ Little one, are 
you going to your father-in-law’s house? ” 

But Mini now understood the meaning of the word 
“ father-in-law,” and she could not reply to him as of 
old. She flushed up at the question, and stood 
before him with her bride-like face turned down. 

I remembered the day when the Cabuliwallah and 
my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she 
had gone, Rahmun heaved a deep sigh, and sat down 
on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him 
that his daughter too must have grown in this long 
time, and that he would have to make friends with 
her anew. Assuredly he would not find her as he 
used to know her. And besides, what might not 
have happened to her in these eight years? 

The marriage-pipes sounded, and the mild autumn 


1 6 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

sun streamed round us. But Rahmun sat in the little 
Calcutta lane, and saw before him the barren moun- 
tains of Afghanistan. 

I took out a bank-note and gave it to him, saying: 
“ Go back to your own daughter, Rahmun, in your 
own country, and may the happiness of your meeting 
bring good fortune to my child ! ” 

Elaving made this present, I had to curtail some 
of the festivities. I could not have the electric lights 
I had intended, nor the military band, and the ladies 
of the house were despondent at it. But to me the 
wedding-feast was all the brighter for the thought 
that in a distant land a long-lost father met again 
with his only child. 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

precarious. From the root “ prec,” meaning prayer. 
Compare deprecate , imprecation ; “ precarious ” means, 
therefore, held by entreaty, and thus insecure, 
impending. From the Latin “ pendere,” to hang. Com- 
pare depend , expend , expensive , pendant, suspend, in- 
terdependent, independent. 

judicious. From the root “jus,” “ jud,” meaning law, 
right. Compare judge, judicial, judgment, just, pre- 
judge, adjustment, adjudicate. 

euphemism. A Greek root “ phe,” meaning speech. Com- 
pare blasphemy . 

transported. From the Latin “ portare,” to carry. Com- 
pare porter, import, export, deport, support, deportation. 
intervene. From the Latin “venire,” to come. Compare 
convenient , convene, supervene, prevent. 


THE CABULIWALLAH 


i7 


conclusion. From the Latin “ claudere,” to close, shut. 

Compare include , preclude , exclude, exclusive, exclusion. 
exclamation. From the Latin “ clamare,” to cry out. 
Compare clamour, proclaim, proclamation, clamorous, 
disclaim , declaim. 

separation. From the Latin “ parare,” to make ready. 
Compare prepare, preparation, compare, comparison, 
comparative. 

recollect. From the Latin “ legere,” to choose. Compare 
collect, elect, election, college, eligible. 
impression. From the Latin “ premere,” to press. Com- 
pare impressive, depress, express, suppress, oppress, pres- 
sure. 

photograph. From two Greek roots “ phut,” meaning light 
and “ graph,” meaning to write. Compare epigraph, 
epigram, photographic, phosphorus, graph, diagram. 
intend. From the Latin “ tendere,” meaning to stretch. 
Compare extend, superintend, attend, attendant, exten- 
sive, tense, pretend, distend, contend. 


























THE HOME-COMING 


II 

THE HOME-COMING 

Phatik Chakravorti was ringleader among the 
boys of the village. A new mischief got into his 
head. There was a heavy log lying on the mud- 
flat of the river waiting to be shaped into a mast 
for a boat. He decided that they should all work 
together to shift the log by main force from its place 
and roll it away. The owner of the log would be 
angry and surprised, and they would all enjoy the 
fun. Every one seconded the proposal, and it was 
carried unanimously. 

But just as the fun was about to begin, Makhan, 
Phatik’ s younger brother, sauntered up and sat down 
on the log in front of them all without a word. The 
boys were puzzled for a moment. He was pushed, 
rather timidly, by one of the boys and told to get up; 
but he remained quite unconcerned. He appeared 
like a young philosopher meditating on the futility of 
games. Phatik was furious. “ Makhan,” he cried, 
“ if you don’t get down this minute I’ll thrash you ! ” 


21 


22 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

Makhan only moved to a more comfortable posi- 
tion. 

Now, if Phatik was to keep his regal dignity before 
the public, it was clear he ought to carry out his 
threat. But his courage failed him at the crisis. 
His fertile brain, however, rapidly seized upon a 
new manoeuvre which would discomfit his brother and 
afford his followers an added amusement. He gave 
the word of command to roll the log and Makhan 
over together. Makhan heard the order and made 
it a point of honour to stick on. But he overlooked 
the fact, like those who attempt earthly fame in other 
matters, that there was peril in it. 

The boys began to heave at the log with all their 
might, calling out, “ One, two, three, go ! ” At the 
word “ go ” the log went; and with it went Makhan’s 
philosophy, glory and all. 

The other boys shouted themselves hoarse with 
delight. But Phatik was a little frightened. He 
knew what was coming. And, sure enough, Makhan 
rose from Mother Earth blind as Fate and screaming 
like the Furies. He rushed at Phatik and scratched 
his face and beat him and kicked him, and then went 
crying home. The first act of the drama was over. 

Phatik wiped his face, and sat down on the edge 
of a sunken barge by the river bank, and began to 
chew a piece of grass. A boat came up to the land- 


THE HOME-COMING 


23 


ing and a middle-aged man, with grey hair and dark 
moustache, stepped on shore. He saw the boy sit- 
ting there doing nothing and asked him where the 
Chakravortis lived. Phatik went on chewing the 
grass and said: “ Over there,” but it was quite im- 
possible to tell where he pointed. The stranger 
asked him again. He swung his legs to and fro 
on the side of the barge and said: “ Go and find 
out,” and continued to chew the grass as before. 

But now a servant came down from the house and 
told Phatik his mother wanted him. Phatik refused 
to move. But the servant was the master on this 
occasion. He took Phatik up roughly and carried 
him, kicking and struggling in impotent rage. 

When Phatik came into the house, his mother saw 
him. She called out angrily: “ So you have been 
hitting Makhan again?” 

Phatik answered indignantly: “No, I haven’t! 
Who told you that? ” 

His mother shouted: “Don’t tell lies! You 
have.” 

Phatik said sullenly: “I tell you, I haven’t. 
You ask Makhan! ” But Makhan thought it best 
to stick to his previous statement. He said: “ Yes, 
mother. Phatik did hit me.” 

Phatik’s patience was already exhausted. He 
could not bear this injustice. He rushed at Makhan 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


24 

and hammered him with blows: “Take that,” he 
cried, “ and that, and that, for telling lies.” 

His mother took Makhan’s side in a moment, and 
pulled Phatik away, beating him with her hands. 
When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted out: 
“ What ! you little villain ! Would you hit your own 
mother? ” 

It was just at this critical juncture that the grey- 
haired stranger arrived. He asked what was the 
matter. Phatik looked sheepish and ashamed. 

But when his mother stepped back and looked at 
the stranger, her anger was changed to surprise. 
For she recognized her brother and cried: “ Why, 
Dada l Where have you come from? ” 

As she said these words, she bowed to the ground 
and touched his feet. Her brother had gone away 
soon after she had married; and he had started busi- 
ness in Bombay. His sister had lost her husband 
while he was there. Bishamber had now come back 
to Calcutta and had at once made enquiries about 
his sister. He had then hastened to see her as soon 
as he found out where she was. 

The next few days were full of rejoicing. The 
brother asked after the education of the two boys. 
He was told by his sister that Phatik was a perpetual 
nuisance. He was lazy, disobedient, and wild. 
But Makhan was as good as gold, as quiet as a lamb, 


THE HOME-COMING 


25 


and very fond of reading. Bishamber kindly offered 
to take Phatik off his sister’s hands and educate him 
with his own children in Calcutta. The widowed 
mother readily agreed. When his uncle asked Pha- 
tik if he would like to go to Calcutta with him, his 
joy knew no bounds and he said : “ Oh, yes, uncle ! ” 

in a way that made it quite clear that he meant it. 

It was an immense relief to the mother to get rid 
of Phatik. She had a prejudice against the boy, and 
no love was lost between the two brothers. She was 
in daily fear that he would either drown Makhan 
some day in the river, or break his head in a fight, 
or run him into some danger. At the same time she 
was a little distressed to see Phatik’s extreme eager- 
ness to get away. 

Phatik, as soon as all was settled, kept asking his 
uncle every minute when they were to start. He 
was on pins and needles all day long with excitement 
and lay awake most of the night. He bequeathed 
to Makhan, in perpetuity, his fishing-rod, his big kite, 
and his marbles. Indeed, at this time of departure, 
his generosity towards Makhan was unbounded. 

When they reached Calcutta, Phatik made the ac- 
quaintance of his aunt for the first time. She was 
by no means pleased with this unnecessary addition 
to her family. She found her own three boys quite 
enough to manage without taking any one else. And 


2 6 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


to bring a village lad of fourteen into their midst was 
terribly upsetting. Bishamber should really have 
thought twice before committing such an indiscre- 
tion. 

In this world of human affairs there is no worse 
nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is 
neither ornamental nor useful. It is impossible to 
shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is 
always getting in the way. If he talks with a child- 
ish lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers in a 
grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any 
talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at the 
unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his 
clothes with indecent haste; his voice grows hoarse 
and breaks and quavers; his face grows suddenly an- 
gular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the short- 
comings of early childhood, but it is hard to tolerate 
even unavoidable lapses in a boy of fourteen. The 
lad himself becomes painfully self-conscious. When 
he talks with elderly people he is either unduly for- 
ward, or else so unduly shy that he appears ashamed 
of his very existence. 

Yet it is at this very age when, in his heart of 
hearts, a young lad most craves for recognition and 
love; and he becomes the devoted slave of any one 
who shows him consideration. But none dare 
openly love him, for that would be regarded as un- 


THE HOME-COMING 


27 


due indulgence and therefore bad for the boy. So, 
what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very 
much like a stray dog that has lost his master. 

For a boy of fourteen his own home is the only 
Paradise. To live in a strange house with strange 
people is little short of torture, while the height of 
bliss is to receive the kind looks of women and never 
to be slighted by them. 

It was anguish to Phatik to be the unwelcome 
guest in his aunt’s house, despised by this elderly 
woman and slighted on every occasion. If ever she 
asked him to do anything for her, he would be so 
overjoyed that he would overdo it; and then she 
would tell him not to be so stupid, but to get on with 
his lessons. 

The cramped atmosphere of neglect oppressed 
Phatik so much that he felt that he could hardly 
breathe. He wanted to go out into the open country 
and fill his lungs with fresh air. But there was no 
open country to go to. Surrounded on all sides by 
Calcutta houses and walls, he would dream night 
after night of his village home and long to be back 
there. He remembered the glorious meadow where 
he used to fly his kite all day long; the broad river- 
banks where he would wander about the live-long day 
singing and shouting for joy; the narrow brook 
where he could go and dive and swim at any time he 


28 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


liked. He thought of his band of boy companions 
over whom he was despot; and, above all, the 
memory of that tyrant mother of his, who had such 
a prejudice against him, occupied him day and night. 
A kind of physical love like that of animals, a long- 
ing to be in the presence of the one who is loved, an 
inexpressible wistfulness during absence, a silent cry 
of the inmost heart for the mother, like the lowing of 
a calf in the twilight, — this love, which was almost 
an animal instinct, agitated the shy, nervous, lean, un- 
couth and ugly boy. No one could understand it, but 
it preyed upon his mind continually. 

There was no more backward boy in the whole 
school than Phatik. He gaped and remained silent 
when the teacher asked him a question, and like an 
overladen ass patiently suffered all the blows that 
came down on his back. When other boys were out 
at play, he stood wistfully by the window and gazed 
at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance 
he espied children playing on the open terrace of any 
roof, his heart would ache with longing. 

One day he summoned up all his courage and asked 
his uncle: “ Uncle, when can I go home? ” 

His uncle answered: “Wait till the holidays 
come.” 

But the holidays would not come till October and 
there was a long time still to wait. 


THE HOME-COMING 


29 


One day Phatik lost his lesson book. Even with 
the help of books he had found it very difficult indeed 
to prepare his lesson. Now it was impossible. Day 
after day the teacher would cane him unmercifully. 
His condition became so abjectly miserable that even 
his cousins were ashamed to own him. They began 
to jeer and insult him more than the other boys. 
He went to his aunt at last and told her that he had 
lost his book. 

His aunt pursed her lips in contempt and said: 
“You great clumsy, country lout! How can I af- 
ford, with all my family, to buy you new books five 
times a month? ” 

That night, on his way back from school, Phatik 
had a bad headache with a fit of shivering. He felt 
he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. 
His one great fear was that he would be a nuisance 
to his aunt. 

The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. 
All searches in the neighbourhood proved futile. 
The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and 
those who went out in search of the boy got drenched 
through to the skin. At last Bishamber asked help 
from the police. 

At the end of the day a police van stopped at the 
door before the house. It was still raining and the 
streets were all flooded. Two constables brought 


30 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


out Phatik in their arms and placed him before 
Bishamber. He was wet through from head to foot, 
muddy all over, his face and eyes flushed red with 
fever and his limbs trembling. Bishamber carried 
him in his arms and took him into the inner apart- 
ments. When his wife saw him she exclaimed: 
“ What a heap of trouble this boy has given us ! 
Hadn’t you better send him home? ” 

Phatik heard her words and sobbed out loud: 
“Uncle, I was just going home; but they dragged 
me back again.” 

The fever rose very high, and all that night the 
boy was delirious. Bishamber brought in a doctor. 
Phatik opened his eyes, flushed with fever, and 
looked up to the ceiling and said vacantly : “ Uncle, 

have the holidays come yet? ” 

Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes and 
took Phatik’s lean and burning hands in his own and 
sat by him through the night. The boy began again 
to mutter. At last his voice became excited: 
“ Mother ! ” he cried, “ don’t beat me like that. . . . 
Mother ! I am telling the truth ! ” 

The next day Phatik became conscious for a short 
time. He turned his eyes about the room, as if 
expecting some one to come. At last, with an air 
of disappointment, his head sank back on the pillow. 
He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh. 


THE HOME-COMING 


3i 


Bishamber knew his thoughts and bending down 
his head whispered: “ Phatik, I have sent for your 
mother.” 

The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled 
voice that the boy’s condition was very critical. 

Phatik began to cry out : “ By the mark — three 

fathoms. By the mark — four fathoms. By the 

mark .” He had heard the sailor on the river- 

steamer calling out the mark on the plumb-line. 
Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea. 

Later in the day Phatik’s mother burst into the 
room, like a whirlwind, and began to toss from side 
to side and moan and cry in a loud voice. 

Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she 
flung herself on the bed, and cried: “ Phatik, my 
darling, my darling.” 

Phatik stopped his restless movements for a mo- 
ment. His hands ceased beating up and down. He 
said: “Eh?” 

The mother cried again : “ Phatik, my darling, 

my darling.” 

Phatik very slowly turned his head and without 
seeing anybody said: “ Mother, the holidays have 
come.” 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 
proposal. From the Latin word “ ponere,” to place. 
Compare position , post, depose, impose, component, 
composition, repose. 


32 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

unanimously. From the Latin “ unus,” one, and “ ani- 
mus,” mind. Compare magnanimous , pusillanimous. 
philosopher. From the Greek “ philos,” a friend, and 
“ sophia,” wisdom. Compare philology , philanthropy, 
theosophy. 

moustache. A French word which has found its home in 
English. French is frequently giving to English new 
words. Compare, in this story, manoeuvre, discomfit, 
mischief. 

juncture. From the Latin “ jungere,” to join. Compare 
junction, conjunction, subjunctive, adjunct. 
unattractive. From the negative “ un,” meaning “not,” 
and the root “ tract-,” meaning to draw. Compare 
traction, tractor, attract, extract, subtract. 
atmosphere. From the Greek word “ atmos,” the air, and 
“ sphaira,” a “ globe.” Compare sphere, hemisphere, 
photosphere. 

wistfulness. Probably from the English word “ wish,” 
wishfulness. Several, however, regard it as coming 
from an old word “ whist ” or “ wist,” meaning silent. 
The vernacular word “ udas ” has the same meaning, 
abjectly. From the Latin word “ jacere,” to throw. 
Compare adhjec-tive, subject, object, project, inject, 
reject. 

neighbourhood. From a Saxon word meaning near, nigh; 
“ hood ” or “ head ” is a common addition to Saxon 
words denoting the quality or character. Compare 
knighthood, manhood, boyhood, womanhood. 
holidays. This word is made up of two words, “ holy ” 
and “ days.” The religious days of the Church were 
those on which no one worked and thus they got the 
meaning of holidays as opposed to working days. 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 



Ill 

ONCE THERE WAS A KING 

“ Once upon a time there was a king.” 

When we were children there was no need to know 
who the king in the fairy story was. It didn’t mat- 
ter whether he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban, 
whether he lived at Kashi or Kanauj. The thing 
that made a seven-year-old boy’s heart go thump, 
thump with delight was this one sovereign truth, this 
reality of all realities : “ Once there was a king.” 

But the readers of this modern age are far more 
exact and exacting. When they hear such an open- 
ing to a story, they are at once critical and suspicious. 
They apply the searchlight of science to its legendary 
haze and ask: “ Which king? ” 

The story-tellers have become more precise in 
their turn. They are no longer content with the old 
indefinite, “ There was a king,” but assume instead 
a look of profound learning and begin: “Once 
there was a king named Ajatasatru.” 

The modern reader’s curiosity, however, is not so 
35 . , 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


36 

easily satisfied. He blinks at the author through his 
scientific spectacles and asks again: “Which Ajat 
asatru? ” 

When we were young, we understood all sweet 
things ; and we could detect the sweets of a fairy story 
by an unerring science of our own. We never cared 
for such useless things as knowledge. We only 
cared for truth. And our unsophisticated little 
hearts knew well where the Crystal Palace of Truth 
lay and how to reach it. But to-day we are expected 
to write pages of facts, while the truth is simply 
this : 

“ There was a king.” 

I remember vividly that evening in Calcutta when 
the fairy story began. The rain and the storm had 
been incessant. The whole of the city was flooded. 
The water was knee-deep in our lane. I had a 
straining hope, which was almost a certainty, that 
my tutor would be prevented from coming, that 
evening. I sat on the stool in the far corner of the 
verandah looking down the lane, with a heart beat- 
ing faster and faster. Every minute I kept my eye 
on the rain, and when it began to diminish I prayed 
with all my might: “ Please, God, send some more 
rain till halTpast seven is over.” For I was quite 
ready to believe that there was no other need for rain 
except to protect one helpless boy one evening in one 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 


37 

corner of Calcutta from the deadly clutches of his 
tutor. 

If not in answer to my prayer, at any rate accord- 
ing to some grosser law of nature, the rain did not 
give up. 

But, alas, nor did my teacher! 

Exactly to the minute, in the bend of the lane, 
I saw his approaching umbrella. The great bubble 
of hope burst in my breast, and my heart collapsed. 
Truly, if there is a punishment to fit the crime after 
death, then my tutor will be born again as me, and 
I shall be born as my tutor. 

As soon as I saw his umbrella I ran as hard as I 
could to my mother’s room. My mother and my 
grandmother were sitting opposite one another play- 
ing cards by the light of a lamp. I ran into the 
room, and flung myself on the bed beside my mother, 
and said: 

“ Mother, the tutor has come, and I have such a 
bad headache; couldn’t I have no lessons to-day? ” 

I hope no child of immature age will be allowed 
to read this story, and I sincerely trust it will not be 
used in text-books or primers for junior classes. 
For what I did was dreadfully bad, and I received no 
punishment whatever. On the contrary, my wicked- 
ness was crowned with success. 

My mother said to me : “ All right,” and turning 


38 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

to the servant added: “ Tell the tutor that he can 
go back home.” 

It was perfectly plain that she didn’t think my 
illness very serious, as she went on with her game 
as before and took no further notice. And I also, 
burying my head in the pillow, laughed to my heart’s 
content. We perfectly understood one another, my 
mother and I. 

But every one must know how hard it is for a boy 
of seven years old to keep up the illusion of illness 
for a long time. After about a minute I got hold 
of Grandmother and said: “Grannie, do tell me 
a story.” 

I had to ask this many times. Grannie and 
Mother went on playing cards and took no notice. 
At last Mother said to me: “ Child, don’t bother. 
Wait till we’ve finished our game.” But I per- 
sisted: “ Grannie, do tell me a story.” I told 
Mother she could finish her game to-morrow, but she 
must let Grannie tell me a story there and then. 

At last Mother threw down the cards and said: 
“ You had better do what he wants. I can’t manage 
him.” Perhaps she had it in her mind that she 
would have no tiresome tutor on the morrow, while 
I should be obliged to be back at those stupid les- 
sons. 

As soon as ever Mother had given way, I rushed 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 


39 


at Grannie. I got hold of her hand, and, dancing 
with delight, dragged her inside my mosquito curtain 
on to the bed. I clutched hold of the bolster with 
both hands in my excitement, and jumped up and 
down with joy, and when I had got a little quieter 
said: “ Now, Grannie, let’s have the story! ” 

Grannie went on : “ And the king had a queen.” 

That was good to begin with. He had only one ! 

It is usual for kings in fairy stories to be extrava- 
gant in queens. And whenever we hear that there 
are two queens our hearts begin to sink. One is sure 
to be unhappy. But in Grannie’s story that danger 
was past. He had only one queen. 

We next hear that the king had not got any son. 
At the age of seven I didn’t think there was any 
need to bother if a man had no son. He might 
only have been in the way. 

Nor are we greatly excited when we hear that the 
king has gone away into the forest to practise aus- 
terities in order to get a son. There was only one 
thing that would have made me go into the forest, 
and that was to get away from my tutor ! 

But the king left behind with his queen a small girl, 
who grew up into a beautiful princess. 

Twelve years pass away, and the king goes on 
practising austerities, and never thinks all this while 
of his beautiful daughter. The princess has reached 


40 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


the full bloom of her youth. The age of marriage 
has passed, but the king does not return. And the 
queen pines away with grief and cries: “Is my 
golden daughter destined to die unmarried? Ah 
me, what a fate is mine ! ” 

Then the queen sent men to the king to entreat 
him earnestly to come back for a single night and 
take one meal in the palace. And the king con- 
sented. 

The queen cooked with her own hand, and with 
the greatest care, sixty-four dishes. She made a 
seat for him of sandal-wood and arranged the food 
in plates of gold and cups of silver. The princess 
stood behind with the peacock-tail fan in her hand. 
The king, after twelve years’ absence, came into the 
house, and the princess waved the fan, lighting up all 
the room with her beauty. The king looked in his 
daughter’s face and forgot to take his food. 

At last he asked his queen: “ Pray, who is this 
girl whose beauty shines as the gold image of the 
goddess? Whose daughter is she?” 

The queen beat her forehead and cried: “Ah, 
how evil is my fate! Do you not know your own 
daughter ? ” 

The king was struck with amazement. He said 
at last: “ My tiny daughter has grown to be a 

n 


woman. 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 


4i 


“ What else? ” the queen said with a sigh. “ Do 
you not know that twelve years have passed by? ” 

“But why did you not give her in marriage?” 
asked the king. 

“You were away,” the queen said. “And how 
could I find her a suitable husband? ” 

The king became vehement with excitement. 
“ The first man I see to-morrow,” he said, “ when I 
come out of the palace shall marry her.” 

The princess went on waving her fan of peacock 
feathers, and the king finished his meal. 

The next morning, as the king came out of his 
palace, he saw the son of a Brahman gathering sticks 
in the forest outside the palace gates. His age was 
about seven or eight. 

The King said: “ I will marry my daughter to 
him.” 

Who can interfere with a king’s command? At 
once the boy was called, and the marriage garlands 
were exchanged between him and the princess. 

At this point I came up close to my wise Grannie 
and asked her eagerly: “When then?” 

In the bottom of my heart there was a devout wish 
to substitute myself for that fortunate wood-gatherer 
of seven years old. The night was resonant with 
the patter of rain. The earthen lamp by my bed- 
side was burning low. My grandmother’s voice 


42 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


droned on as she told the story. And all these things 
served to create in a corner of my credulous heart 
the belief that I had been gathering sticks in the dawn 
of some indefinite time in the kingdom of some un- 
known king, and in a moment garlands had been 
exchanged between me and the princess, beautiful as 
the Goddess of Grace. She had a gold band on her 
hair and gold earrings in her ears. She had a neck- 
lace and bracelets of gold, and a golden waist-chain 
round her waist, and a pair of golden anklets tinkled 
above her feet. 

If my grandmother were an author, how many ex- 
planations she would have to offer for this little 
story! First of all, every one would ask why the 
king remained twelve years in the forest? Secondly, 
why should the king’s daughter remain unmarried all 
that while? This would be regarded as absurd. 

Even if she could have got so far without a quar- 
rel, still there would have been a great hue and cry 
about the marriage itself. First, it never happened. 
Secondly, how could there be* a marriage between a 
princess of the Warrior Caste and a boy of the 
priestly Brahman Caste? Her readers would have 
imagined at once that the writer was preaching 
against our social customs in an underhand way. 
And they would write letters to the papers. 

So I pray with all my heart that my grandmother 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 


43 


may be born a grandmother again, and not through 
some cursed fate take birth as her luckless grandson. 

With a throb of joy and delight, I asked Grannie: 
“What then?” 

Grannie went on: Then the princess took her 
little husband away in great distress, and built a large 
palace with seven wings, and began to cherish her 
husband with great care. 

I jumped up and down in my bed and clutched 
at the bolster more tightly than ever and said: 
“What then?” 

Grannie continued: The little boy went to school 
and learnt many lessons from his teachers, and as he 
grew up his class-fellows began to ask him: “ Who 
is that beautiful lady living with you in the palace 
with the seven wings? ” 

The Brahman’s son was eager to know who she 
was. He could only remember how one day he had 
been gathering sticks and a great disturbance arose. 
But all that was so long ago that he had no clear 
recollection. 

Four or five years passed in this way. His com- 
panions always asked him : “ Who is that beauti- 

ful lady in the palace with the seven wings? ” And 
the Brahman’s son would come back from school and 
sadly tell the princess : “ My school companions al- 

ways ask me who is that beautiful lady in the palace 


44 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


with the seven wings, and I can give them no reply. 
Tell me, oh, tell me, who you are ! ” 

The princess said: “Let it pass to-day. I will 
tell you some other day.” And every day the Brah- 
man’s son would ask: “Who are you?” and the 
princess would reply: “ Let it pass to-day. I will 
tell you some other day.” In this manner four or 
five more years passed away. 

At last the Brahman’s son became very impatient 
and said: “ If you do not tell me to-day who you 
are, O beautiful lady, I will leave this palace with 
the seven wings.” Then the princess said: “ I will 
certainly tell you to-morrow.” 

Next day the Brahman’s son, as soon as he came 
home from school, said: “Now, tell me who you 
are.” The princess said: “ To-night I will tell you 
after supper, when you are in bed.” 

The Brahman’s son said: “ Very well and he 
began to count the hours in expectation of the night. 
And the princess, on her side, spread white flowers 
over the golden bed, and lighted a gold lamp with 
fragrant oil, and adorned her hair, and dressed her- 
self in a beautiful robe of blue, and began to count 
the hours in expectation of the night. 

That evening when her husband, the Brahman’s 
son, had finished his meal, too excited almost to eat, 
and had gone to the golden bed in the bedchamber 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 


45 


strewn with flowers, he said to himself: “ To-night 
I shall surely know who this beautiful lady is in the 
palace with the seven wings.” 

The princess took for her food that which was left 
over by her husband, and slowly entered the bed- 
chamber. She had to answer that night the question, 
who was the beautiful lady that lived in the palace 
with the seven wings. And as she went up to the 
bed to tell him she found a serpent had crept out of 
the flowers and had bitten the Brahman’s son. Her 
boy-husband was lying on the bed of flowers, with 
face pale in death. 

My heart suddenly ceased to throb, and I asked 
with choking voice: “ What then? ” 

Grannie said: “Then . . .” 

But what is the use of going on any further with 
the story? It would only lead on to what was more 
and more impossible. The boy of seven did not 
know that, if there were some “ What then? ” after 
death, no grandmother of a grandmother could tell 
us all about it. 

But the child’s faith never admits defeat, and 
it would snatch at the mantle of death itself to turn 
him back. It would be outrageous for him to think 
that such a story of one teacherless evening could so 
suddenly come to a stop. Therefore the grand- 
mother had to call back her story from the ever-shut 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


46 

chamber of the great End, but she does it so simply: 
it is merely by floating the dead body on a banana 
stem on the river, and having some incantations read 
by a magician. But in that rainy night and in the 
dim light of a lamp death loses all its horror in the 
mind of the boy, and seems nothing more than a deep 
slumber of a single night. When the story ends the 
tired eyelids are weighed down with sleep. Thus it 
is that we send the little body of the child floating 
on the back of sleep over the still water of time, and 
then in the morning read a few verses of incantation 
to restore him to the world of life and light. 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

sovereign. This word is taken directly from the French 
language. It is connected with the Latin “ supremus.” 
blinks. Many English words are made up from the sup- 
posed sound or motion to be represented. Compare to 
splash , to plump , to quack , to throb , to swish . 
suspicious. From the Latin word “ spicere,” to look. 

Compare auspicious , respect, inspect, aspect. 
unsophisticated. This word comes from the Greek “ so- 
phistes,” meaning a sophist, that is to say, one who 
makes a pretence of being wise. Unsophisticated means 
one who makes no pretence to be learned, 
umbrella. This word has come into English from the 
Italian language. “ Umbra ” in Latin means “ shade ” 
and Ombrella in Italian means “ little shade.” 
extravagant. From the Latin root “ vag,” meaning to 
wander. The word means “ wandering outside ” and 
so “ going beyond bounds.” Compare vagrant, vaga- 
bond, vague. 


ONCE THERE WAS A KING 47 

explanation. From the Latin “planus,” meaning plain. 

Compare explanatory , explain, plain, plane. 
incantation. From the Latin “ cantare,” to chant, some- 
thing chanted over a person. 

magician. From the Greek “magus,” an astrologer. 
Compare magic, the Magi, magical. 



THE CHILD’S RETURN 


IV 

THE CHILD’S RETURN 


i 

Raicharan was twelve years old when he came as a 
servant to his master’s house. He belonged to the 
same caste as his master and was given his master’s 
little son to nurse. As time went on the boy left 
Raicharan’s arms to go to school. From school he 
went on to college, and after college he entered the 
judicial service. Always, until he married, Rai- 
charan was his sole attendant. 

But when a mistress came into the house, Rai- 
charan found two masters instead of one. All his 
former influence passed to the new mistress. This 
was compensated by a fresh arrival. Anukul had a 
son born to him and Raicharan by his unsparing at- 
tentions soon got a complete hold over the child. 
He used to toss him up in his arms, call to him in 
absurd baby language, put his face close to the baby’s 
and draw it away again with a laugh. 

Presently the child was able to crawl and cross the 
doorway. When Raicharan went to catch him, he 
SI 


52 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


would scream with mischievous laughter and make 
for safety. Raicharan was amazed at the profound 
skill and exact judgment the baby showed when pur- 
sued. He would say to his mistress with a look of 
awe and mystery: “ Your son will be a judge some 
day.” 

New wonders came in their turn. When the baby 
began to toddle, that was to Raicharan an epoch in 
human history. When he called his father Ba-ba 
and his mother Ma-ma and Raicharan Chan-na, then 
Raicharan’s ecstasy knew no bounds. He went out 
to tell the news to all the world. 

After a while Raicharan was asked to show his 
ingenuity in other ways. He had, for instance, to 
play the part of a horse, holding the reins between 
his teeth and prancing with his feet. He had also 
to wrestle with his little charge; and if he could not, 
by a wrestler’s trick, fall on his back defeated at the 
end a great outcry was certain. 

About this time Anukul was transferred to a dis- 
trict on the banks of the Padma. On his way 
through Calcutta he bought his son a little go-cart. 
He bought him also a yellow satin waistcoat, a gold- 
laced cap, and some gold bracelets and anklets. 
Raicharan was wont to take these out and put them 
on his little charge, with ceremonial pride, whenever 
they went for a walk. 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


53 

Then came the rainy season and day after day the 
rain poured down in torrents. The hungry river, 
like an enormous serpent, swallowed down terraces, 
villages, cornfields, and covered with its flood the tall 
grasses and wild casuarinas on the sandbanks. 
From time to time there was a deep thud as the 
river-banks crumbled. The unceasing roar of the 
main current could be heard from far away. 
Masses of foam, carried swiftly past, proved to the 
eye the swiftness of the stream. 

One afternoon the rain cleared. It was cloudy, 
but cool and bright. Raicharan’s little despot 
did not want to stay in on such a fine afternoon. 
His lordship climbed into the go-cart. Raicharan, 
between the shafts, dragged him slowly along till 
he reached the rice-fields on the banks of the river. 
There was no one in the fields and no boat on the 
stream. Across the water, on the farther side, the 
clouds were rifted in the west. The silent cere- 
monial of the setting sun was revealed in all its glow- 
ing splendour. In the midst of that stillness the 
child, all of a sudden, pointed with his finger in front 
of him and cried : “ Chan-na ! Pitty fow.” 

Close by on a mud-flat stood a large Kadamba 
tree in full flower. My lord, the baby, looked at it 
with greedy eyes and Raicharan knew his meaning. 
Only a short time before he had made, out of these 


54 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


very flower balls, a small go-cart; and the child had 
been so entirely happy dragging it about with a 
string, that for the whole day Raicharan was not 
asked to put on the reins at all. He was promoted 
from a horse into a groom. 

But Raicharan had no wish that evening to go 
splashing knee-deep through the mud to reach the 
flowers. So he quickly pointed his finger in the op- 
posite direction, calling out: “Look, baby, look! 
Look at the bird.” And with all sorts of curious 
noises he pushed the go-cart rapidly away from the 
tree. 

But a child, destined to be a judge, cannot be put 
off so easily. And besides, there was at the time 
nothing to attract his eyes. And you cannot keep up 
for ever the pretence of an imaginary bird. 

The little Master’s mind was made up, and Rai- 
charan was at his wits’ end. “ Very well, baby,” he 
said at last, “ you sit still in the cart, and I’ll go and 
get you the pretty flower. Only mind you don’t go 
near the water.” 

As he said this, he made his legs bare to the knee, 
and waded through the oozing mud towards the 
tree. 

The moment Raicharan had gone, his little Mas- 
ter’s thoughts went off at racing speed to the forbid- 
den water. The baby saw the river rushing by, 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


55 


splashing and gurgling as it went. It seemed as 
though the disobedient wavelets themselves were run- 
ning away from some greater Raicharan with the 
laughter of a thousand children. At the sight of 
their mischief, the heart of the human child grew 
excited and restless. He got down stealthily from 
the go-cart and toddled off towards the river. On 
his way he picked up a small stick and leant over the 
bank of the stream pretending to fish. The mis- 
chievous fairies of the river with their mysterious 
voices seemed inviting him into their play-house. 

Raicharan had plucked a handful of flowers from 
the tree and was carrying them back in the end of 
his cloth, with his face wreathed in smiles. But when 
he reached the go-cart there was no one there. He 
looked on all sides and there was no one there. He 
looked back at the cart and there was no one there. 

In that first terrible moment his blood froze within 
him. Before his eyes the whole universe swam 
round like a dark mist. From the depth of his 
broken heart he gave one piercing cry: “ Master, 
Master, little Master.” 

But no voice answered u Chan-na.” No child 
laughed mischievously back: no scream of baby de- 
light welcomed his return. Only the river ran on 
with its splashing, gurgling noise as before, — as 
though it knew nothing at all and had no time to at- 


56 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

tend to such a tiny human event as the death of a 
child. 

As the evening passed by Raicharan’s mistress be- 
came very anxious. She sent men out on all sides 
to search. They went with lanterns in their hands 
and reached at last the banks of the Padma. There 
they found Raicharan rushing up and down the fields, 
like a stormy wind, shouting the cry of despair: 
“ Master, Master, little Master! ” 

When they got Raicharan home at last, he fell 
prostrate at the feet of his mistress. They shook 
him, and questioned him, and asked him repeatedly 
where he had left the child; but all he could say was 
that he knew nothing. 

Though every one held the opinion that the Padma 
had swallowed the child, there was a lurking doubt 
left in the mind. For a band of gipsies had been 
noticed outside the village that afternoon, and some 
suspicion rested on them. The mother went so far 
in her wild grief as to think it possible that Raicha- 
ran himself had stolen the child. She called him 
aside with piteous entreaty and said: “ Raicharan, 
give me back my baby. Give me back my child. 
Take from me any money you ask, but give me back 
my child! ” 

Raicharan only beat his forehead in reply. His 
mistress ordered him out of the house. 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


57 


Anukul tried to reason his wife out of this wholly 
unjust suspicion: “Why on earth,” he said, 
“ should he commit such a crime as that? ” 

The mother only replied: “ The baby had gold 
ornaments on his body. Who knows? ” 

It was impossible to reason with her after that. 

II 

Raichran went back to his own village. Up to 
this time he had had no son, and there was no hope 
that any child would now be born to him. But it 
came about before the end of a year that his wife 
gave birth to a son and died. 

An overwhelming resentment at first grew up in 
Raicharan’s heart at the sight of this new baby. At 
the back of his mind was resentful suspicion that it 
had come as a usurper in place of the little Master. 
He also thought it would be a grave offence to be 
happy with a son of his own after what had hap- 
pened to his master’s little child. Indeed, if it had 
not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the 
new baby, it would not have lived long. 

But a change gradually came over Raicharan’s 
mind. A wonderful thing happened. This new 
baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the 
doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed 
an amusing cleverness in making its escape to safety. 


58 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Its voice, its sounds of laughter and tears, its ges- 
tures, were those of the little Master. On some 
days, when Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart 
suddenly began thumping wildly against his ribs, and 
it seemed to him that his former little Master was 
crying somewhere in the unknown land, of death 
because he had lost his Chan-na. 

Phailna (for that was the name Raichar?.n’s sister 
gave to the new baby) soon began to talk. It learnt 
to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby accent. When 
Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery 
suddenly became clear. The little Master could not 
cast off the spell of his Chan-na and therefore he had 
been reborn in his own house. 

The three arguments in favour of this were, to 
Raicharan, altogether beyond dispute : 

The new baby was born soon after his little mas- 
ter’s death. 

His wife could never have accumulated such merit 
as to give birth to a son in middle age. 

The new baby walked with a toddle and called 
out Ba-ba and Ma-ma. — There was no sign lacking 
which marked out the future judge. 

Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that ter- 
rible accusation of the mother. “ Ah,” he said to 
himself with amazement, “ the mother’s heart was 
right. She knew I had stolen her child.” 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


59 


When once he had come to this conclusion, he 
was filled with remorse for his past neglect. He now 
gave himself over, body and soul, to the new baby 
and became its devoted attendant. He began to 
bring it up as if it were the son of a rich man. He 
bought a go-cart, a yellow satin waistcoat, and a 
gold-embroidered cap. He melted down the orna- 
ments of his dead wife and made gold bangles and 
anklets. He refused to let the little child play with 
any one of the neighbourhood and became himself 
its sole companion day and night. As the baby 
grew up to boyhood, he was so petted and spoilt and 
clad in such finery that the village children would 
call him “Your Lordship,” and jeer at him; and 
older people regarded Raicharan as unaccountably 
crazy about the child. 

At last the time came for the boy to go to school. 
Raicharan sold his small piece of land and went to 
Calcutta. There he got employment with great dif- 
ficulty as a servant and sent Phailna to school. He 
spared no pains to give him the best education, the 
best clothes, the best food. Meanwhile, he himself 
lived on a mere handful of rice and would say in se- 
cret: “ Ah, my little Master, my dear little Master, 
you loved me so much that you came back to my 
house! You shall never suffer from any neglect of 
mine.” 


Go 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Twelve years passed away in this manner. The 
boy was able to read and write well. He was bright 
and healthy and good-looking. He paid a great deal 
of attention to his personal appearance and was 
specially careful in parting his hair. He was in- 
clined to extravagance and finery and spent money 
freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan as 
a father, because, though fatherly in affection, he 
had the manner of a servant. A further fault was 
this, that Raicharan kept secret from every one that 
he himself was the father of the child. 

The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a 
boarder, were greatly amused by Raicharan’s country 
manners, and I have to confess that behind his fa- 
ther’s back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in 
the bottom of their hearts, all the students loved 
the innocent and tender-hearted old man, and 
Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have 
said before, he loved him with a kind of conde- 
scension. 

Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer 
was continually finding fault with him for his incom- 
petent work. He had been starving himself for the 
boy’s sake, so he had grown physically weak and no 
longer up to his daily task. He would forget things 
and his mind became dull and stupid. But his em- 
ployer expected a full servant’s work out of him and 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


6 1 


would not brook excuses. The money that Raicha- 
ran had brought with him from the sale of his land 
was exhausted. The boy was continually grumbling 
about his clothes and asking for more money. 

Ill 

Raicharan made up his mind. He gave up the sit- 
uation w T here he was working as a servant, and 
left some money with Phailna and said: “I have 
some business to do at home in my village, and shall 
be back soon.” 

He went off at once to Baraset where Anukul was 
magistrate. Anukul’s wife was still broken down 
with grief. She had had no other child. 

One day Anukul was resting after a long and 
weary day in court. His wife was buying, at an 
exorbitant price, a herb from a mendicant quack, 
which was said to ensure the birth of a child. A 
voice of greeting was heard in the courtyard. 
Anukul went out to see who was there. It was 
Raicharan. Anukul’s heart was softened when he 
saw his old servant. He asked him many questions 
and offered to take him back into service. 

Raicharan smiled faintly and said in reply: “ I 
want to make obeisance to my mistress.” 

Anukul went with Raicharan into the house, 
where the mistress did not receive him as warmly 


6 2 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


as his old master. Raicharan took no notice of this, 
but folded his hands and said: “It was not the 
Padma that stole your baby. It was I.” 

Anukul exclaimed : “Great God! Eh! What! 
Where is he?” 

Raicharan replied: “He is with me. I will 
bring him the day after to-morrow.” 

It was Sunday. There was no magistrate’s court 
sitting. Both husband and wife were looking ex- 
pectantly along the road, waiting from early morn- 
ing for Raicharan’s appearance. At ten o’clock he 
came leading Phailna by the hand. 

Anukul’s wife, without a question, took the boy 
into her lap and was wild with excitement, sometimes 
laughing, sometimes weeping, touching him, kissing 
his hair and his forehead, and gazing into his face 
with hungry, eager eyes. The boy was very good- 
looking and dressed like a gentleman’s son. The 
heart of Anukul brimmed over with a sudden rush 
of affection. 

Nevertheless the magistrate in him asked: 
“ Have you any proofs? ” 

Raicharan said : “ How could there be any proof 

of such a deed? God alone knows that I stole your 
boy, and no one else in the world.” 

When Anukul saw how eagerly his wife was 
clinging to the boy, he realised the futility of asking 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


63 

for proofs. It would be wiser to believe. And 
then, — where could an old man like Raicharan get 
such a boy from ? And why should his faithful serv- 
ant deceive him for nothing? 

“ But,” he added severely, “ Raicharan, you must 
not stay here.” 

“ Where shall I go, Master? ” said Raicharan, in 
a choking voice, folding his hands. “ I am old. 
Who will take in an old man as a servant? ” 

The mistress said: “Let him stay. My child 
will be pleased. I forgive him.” 

But Anukul’s magisterial conscience would not al- 
low him. “ No,” he said, “ he cannot be forgiven 
for what he has done.” 

Raicharan bowed to the ground and clasped Anu- 
kul’s feet. “ Master,” he cried, “ let me stay. It 
was not I who did it. It was God.” 

Anukul’s conscience was more shocked than ever 
when Raicharan tried to put the blame on God’s 
shoulders. 

“ No,” he said, “ I could not allow it. I cannot 
trust you any more. You have done an act of 
treachery.” 

Raicharan rose to his feet and said: “ It was not 
I who did it.” 

“ Who was it then? ” asked Anukul. 

Raicharan replied : “ It was my fate.” 


6 4 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


But no educated man could take this for an excuse. 
Anukul remained obdurate. 

When Phailna saw that he was the wealthy mag- 
istrate’s son, and not Raicharan’s, he was angry at 
first, thinking that he had been cheated all this time 
of his birthright. But seeing Raicharan in distress, 
he generously said to his father: “ Father, forgive 
him. Even if you don’t let him live with us, let him 
have a small monthly pension.” 

After hearing this, Raicharan did not utter an- 
other word. He looked for the last time on the 
face of his son. He made obeisance to his old mas- 
ter and mistress. Then he went out and was min- 
gled with the numberless people of the world. 

At the end of the month Anukul sent him some 
money to his village. But the money came back. 
There was no one there of the name of Raicharan. 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

judicial. From the Latin word “judex,” a judge. Com- 
pare judicious , judge , judgment, just . 
compensate. From the Latin word “ pensare,” to weigh. 
Compare dispense, dispensary, compensation. (This 
must not be confused with the Latin word “ pendere,” 
to hang. Compare suspend, expend, depend.) 
ecstasy. From two Greek words “ex” and “stasis,” 
meaning standing outside oneself, 
transferred. From the Latin word “ ferre,” to carry. 
Compare offer, defer, confer, prefer, proffer, infer, con- 
ference, fertile. 


THE CHILD’S RETURN 


65 


crumble. To break into crumbs or little pieces, 
promoted. From the Latin word “ movere,” to move. 
Compare motive, motion, motor, promotion, commo- 
tion. 

excited. From the Latin word “ ciere,” to set in motion. 

Compare incite, excitement, exciting, cite. 
lantern. A French word derived from the Greek “ lamp- 
ein,” to shine. Compare, magic-lantern, lamp. 
gipsy. Also spelt gypsy, from “Egyptian”; because the 
gipsies were supposed to come from Egypt, 
usurper. From the Latin word “ usurpare.” This word is 
made up of “ usus,” use and “ rapere,” to snatch. 
Compare use, usual, usufruct, rapid, rapt, rapture. 
magisterial. From the Latin word “ magister,” a judge. 

Compare magistrate, magistracy. 
obdurate. From the Latin word “ durus,” hard. Compare 
endure, endurance, obduracy. 









MASTER MASHAI 



V 


MASTER MASHAI 

i 

Adhar Babu lives upon the interest of the capital 
left him by his father. Only the brokers, negotiat- 
ing loans, come to his drawing room and smoke the 
silver-chased hookah, and the clerks from the attor- 
ney’s office discuss the terms of some mortgage or 
the amount of the stamp fees. He is so careful with 
his money that even the most dogged efforts of the 
boys from the local football club fail to make any 
impression on his pocket. 

At the time this story opens a new guest came 
into his household. After a long period of despair, 
his wife, Nanibala, bore him a son. 

The child resembled his mother, — large eyes, 
well-formed nose, and fair complexion. Ratikanta, 
Adharlal’s protege, gave verdict, — “ He is worthy of 
this noble house.” They named him Venugopal. 

Never before had Adharlal’s wife expressed any 
opinion differing from her husband’s on household 
expenses. There had been a hot discussion now and 
69 


70 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


then about the propriety of some necessary item and 
up to this time she had merely acknowledged defeat 
with silent contempt. But now Adharlal could no 
longer maintain his supremacy. He had to give way 
little by little when things for his son were in ques- 
tion. 


II 

As Venugopal grew up, his father gradually be- 
came accustomed to spending money on him. He 
obtained an old teacher, who had a considerable re- 
pute for his learning and also for his success in 
dragging impassable boys through their examina- 
tions. But such a training does not lead to the cul- 
tivation of amiability. This man tried his best to 
win the boy’s heart, but the little that was left in 
him of the natural milk of human kindness had 
turned sour, and the child repulsed his advances from 
the very beginning. The mother, in consequence, 
objected to him strongly, and complained that the 
very sight of him made her boy ill. So the teacher 
left. 

Just then, Haralal made his appearance with a dirty 
dress and a torn pair of old canvas shoes. Hara- 
lal’s mother, who was a widow, had kept him with 
great difficulty at a District school out of the scanty 
earnings which she made by cooking in strange houses 


MASTER MASHAI 


7i 


and husking rice. He managed to pass the Matric- 
ulation and determined to go to College. As a re- 
sult of his half-starved condition, his pinched face 
tapered to a point in an unnatural manner, — like 
Cape Comorin in the map of India; and the only 
broad portion of it was his forehead, which re- 
sembled the ranges of the Himalayas. 

The servant asked Haralal what he wanted, and 
he answered timidly that he wished to see the mas- 
ter. 

The servant answered sharply: “You can’t see 
him.” Haralal was hesitating, at a loss what to do 
next, when Venugopal, who had finished his game in 
the garden, suddenly came to the door. The servant 
shouted at Haralal : “ Get away.” Quite unac- 

countably Venugopal grew excited and cried: “ No, 
he shan’t get away.” And he dragged the stranger 
to his father. 

Adharlal had just risen from his mid-day sleep 
and was sitting quietly on the upper verandah in his 
cane chair, rocking his legs. Ratikanta was enjoying 
his hookah, seated in a chair next to him. He asked 
Haralal how far he had got in his reading. The 
young man bent his head and answered that he had 
passed the Matriculation. Ratikanta looked stern 
and expressed surprise that he should be so backward 
for his age. Haralal kept silence. It was Rati- 


72 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


kanta’s special pleasure to torture his patron’s de- 
pendants, whether actual or potential. 

Suddenly it struck Adharlal that he would be able 
to employ this youth as a tutor for his son on next to 
nothing. He agreed, there and then, to take him at 
a salary of five rupees a month with board and lodg- 
ing free. 


in 

This time the post of tutor remained occupied 
longer than before. From the very beginning of 
their acquaintance Haralal and his pupil became 
great friends. Never before did Haralal have such 
an opportunity of loving any young human creature. 
His mother had been so poor and dependent, that 
he had never had the privilege of playing with the 
children where she was employed at work. He had 
not hitherto suspected the hidden stores of love 
which lay all the while accumulating in his own 
heart. 

Venu, also, was glad to find a companion in Har- 
alal. He was the only boy in the house. His two 
younger sisters were looked down upon, as unworthy 
of being his playmates. So his new tutor became 
his only companion, patiently bearing the undivided 
weight of the tyranny of his child friend. 


MASTER MASHAI 


73 


IV 

Venu was now eleven. Haralal had passed his 
Intermediate, winning a scholarship. He was work- 
ing hard for his B.A. degree. After College lectures 
were over, he would take Venu out into the public 
park and tell him stories about the heroes from 
Greek History and Victor Hugo’s romances. The 
child used to get quite impatient to r.un to Haralal, 
after school hours, in spite of his mother’s attempts 
to keep him by her side. 

This displeased Nanibala. She thought that it 
was a deep-laid plot of Haralal’s to captivate her 
boy, in order to prolong his own appointment. One 
day she talked to him from behind the purdah : “ It 

is your duty to teach my son only for an hour or two 
in the morning and evening. But why are you al- 
ways with him? The child has nearly forgotten his 
own parents. You must understand that a man of 
your position is no fit companion for a boy belonging 
to this house.” 

Haralal’s voice choked a little as he answered that 
for the future he would merely be Venu’s teacher and 
would keep away from him at other times. 

It was Haralal’s usual practice to begin his Col- 
lege study early before dawn. The child would 


74 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


come to him directly after he had washed himself. 
There was a small pool in the garden and they used 
to feed the fish in it with puffed rice. Venu was also 
engaged in building a miniature garden-house, at the 
corner of the garden, with its liliputian gates and 
hedges and gravel paths. When the sun became too 
hot they would go back into the house, and Venu 
would have his morning lesson from Haralal. 

On the day in question Venu had risen earlier 
than usual, because he wished to hear the end of the 
story which Haralal had begun the evening before. 
But he found his teacher absent. When asked about 
him, the door-servant said that he had gone out. At 
lesson time Venu remained unnaturally quiet. He 
never even asked Haralal why he had gone out, but 
went on mechanically with his lessons. When the 
child was with his mother taking his breakfast, she 
asked him what had happened to make him so 
gloomy, and why he was not eating his food. Venu 
gave no answer. After his meal his mother caressed 
him and questioned him repeatedly. Venu burst out 
crying and said, — “ Master Mashai.” His mother 
asked Venu, — “What about Master Mashai?” 
But Venu found it difficult to name the offence which 
his teacher had committed. 

His mother said to Venu: “Has your Master 
Mashai been saying anything to you against me?” 


MASTER MASHAI 


75 

Venu could not understand the question and went 
away. 


v 

There was a theft in Adhar Babu’s house. The 
police were called in to investigate. Even Hara- 
lal’s trunks were searched. Ratikanta said with 
meaning: “ The man who steals anything, does not 
keep his thefts in his own box.” 

Adharlal called his son’s tutor and said to him: 
“ It will not be convenient for me to keep any of you 
in my own house. From to-day you will have to 
take up your quarters outside, only coming in to teach 
my son at the proper time.” 

Ratikanta said sagely, drawing at his hookah: 
“ That is a good proposal, — good for both parties.” 

Haralal did not utter a word, but he sent a letter 
saying that it would be no longer possible for him to 
remain as tutor to Venu. 

When Venu came back from school, he found his 
tutor’s room empty. Even that broken steel trunk 
of his was absent. The rope was stretched across 
the corner, but there were no clothes or towel hang- 
ing on it. Only on the table, which formerly was 
strewn with books and papers, stood a bowl con- 
taining some gold-fish with a label on which was 
written the word “ Venu ” in Haralal’s hand-writing. 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


7 6 

The boy ran up at once to his father and asked him 
what had happened. His father told him that Har- 
alal had resigned his post. Venu went to his room 
and flung himself down and began to cry. Adharlal 
did not know what to do with him. 

The next day, when Haralal was sitting on his 
wooden bedstead in the Hostel, debating with him- 
self whether he should attend his college lectures, 
suddenly he saw Adhar Babu’s servant coming into 
his room followed by Venu. Venu at once ran up 
to him and threw his arms round his neck asking him 
to come back to the house. 

Haralal could not explain why it was absolutely 
impossible for him to go back, but the memory of 
those clinging arms and that pathetic request used to 
choke his breath with emotion long after. 

VI 

Haralal found out, after this, that his mind was 
in an unsettled state, and that he had but a small 
chance of winning the scholarship, even if he could 
pass the examination. At the same time, he knew 
that, without the scholarship, he could not continue 
his studies. So he tried to get employment in some 
office. 

Fortunately for him, an English Manager of a big 
merchant firm took a fancy to him at first sight. 


MASTER MASHAI 


77 


After only a brief, exchange of words the Manager 
asked him if he had any experience, and could he 
bring any testimonial. Haralal could only answer 
“No”; nevertheless a post was offered him of 
twenty rupees a month and fifteen rupees were al- 
lowed him in advance to help him to come properly 
dressed to the office. 

The Manager made Haralal work extremely hard. 
He had to stay on after office hours and sometimes 
go to his master’s house late in the evening. But, in 
this way, he learnt his work quicker than others, and 
his fellow clerks became jealous of him and tried to 
injure him, but without effect. He rented a small 
house in a narrow lane and brought his mother to 
live with him as soon as his salary was raised to forty 
rupees a month. Thus happiness came back to his 
mother after weary years of waiting. 

Haralal’s mother used to express a desire to see 
Venugopal, of whom she had heard so much. She 
wished to prepare some dishes with her own hand 
and to ask him to come just once to dine with her son. 
Haralal avoided the subject by saying that his house 
was not big enough to invite him for that purpose. 

VII 

The news reached Haralal that Venu’s mother had 
died. He could not wait a moment, but went at once 


78 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


to Adharlal’s house to see Venu. After that they be- 
gan to see each other frequently. 

But times had changed. Venu, stroking his bud- 
ding moustache, had grown quite a young man of 
fashion. Friends, befitting his present condition, 
were numerous. That old dilapidated study chair 
and ink-stained desk had vanished, and the room 
now seemed to be bursting with pride at its new 
acquisitions, — its looking-glasses, oleographs, and 
other furniture. Venu had entered college, but 
showed no haste in crossing the boundary of the In- 
termediate examination. 

Haralal remembered his mother’s request to invite 
Venu to dinner. After great hesitation, he did so. 
Venugopal, with his handsome face, at once won the 
mother’s heart. But as soon as ever the meal was 
over he became impatient to go, and looking at his 
gold watch he explained that he had pressing engage- 
ments elsewhere. Then he jumped into his carriage, 
which was waiting at the door, and drove away. 
Haralal with a sigh said to himself that he would 
never invite him again. 


VIII 

One day, on returning from office, Haralal noticed 
the presence of a man in the dark room on the 
ground floor of his house. Possibly he would have 


MASTER MASHAI 


79 


passed him by, had not the heavy scent of some 
foreign perfume attracted his attention. Haralal 
asked who was there, and the answer came: 

“ It is I, Master Mashai.” 

“What is the matter, Venu?” said Haralal. 
“ When did you arrive? ” 

“ I came hours ago,” said Venu. “ I did not 
know that you returned so late.” 

They went upstairs together and Haralal lighted 
the lamp and asked Venu whether all was well. 
Venu replied that his college classes were becoming 
a fearful bore, and his father did not realize how 
dreadfully hard it was for him to go on in the same 
class, year after year, with students much younger 
than himself. Haralal asked him what he wished 
to do. Venu then told him that he wanted to go to 
England and become a barrister. He gave an in- 
stance of a student, much less advanced than himself, 
who was getting ready to go. Haralal asked him 
if he had received his father’s permission. Venu 
replied that his father would not hear a word of it 
until he had passed the Intermediate, and that was an 
impossibility in his present frame of mind. Haralal 
suggested that he himself should go and try to talk 
over his father. 

“ No,” said Venu, “ I can never allow that! ” 

Haralal asked Venu to stay for dinner and while 


8o 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


they were waiting he gently placed his hand on 
Venu’s shoulder and said: 

“ Venu, you should not quarrel with your father, 
or leave home.” 

Venu jumped up angrily and said that if he was 
not welcome, he could go elsewhere. Haralal 
caught him by the hand and implored him not to go 
away without taking his food. But Venu snatched 
away his hand and was just leaving the room when 
Haralal’s mother brought the food in on a tray. On 
seeing Venu about to leave she pressed him to re- 
main and he did so with bad grace. 

While he was eating the sound of a carriage 
stopping at the door was heard. First a servant 
entered the room with creaking shoes and then 
Adhar Babu himself. Venu’s face became pale. 
The mother left the room as soon as she saw stran- 
gers enter. Adhar Babu called out to Haralal in a 
voice thick with anger : 

“ Ratikanta gave me full warning, but I could not 
believe that you had such devilish cunning hidden in 
you. So, you think you’re going to live upon Venu? 
This is sheer kidnapping, and I shall prosecute you 
in the Police Court.” 

Venu silently followed his father and went out of 
the house. 


MASTER MASHAI 


IX 

The firm to which Haralal belonged began to buy 
up large quantities of rice and dhal from the country 
districts. To pay for this, Haralal had to take the 
cash every Saturday morning by the early train and 
disburse it. There were special centres where the 
brokers and middlemen would come with their re- 
ceipts and accounts for settlement. Some discussion 
had taken place in the office about Haralal being en- 
trusted with this work, without any security, but the 
Manager undertook all the responsibility and said 
that a security was not needed. This special work 
used to go on from the middle of December to the 
middle of April. Haralal would get back from it 
very late at night. 

One day, after his return, he was told by his 
mother that Venu had called and that she had per- 
suaded him to take his dinner at their house. This 
happened more than once. The mother said that 
it was because Venu missed his own mother, and 
the tears came into her eyes as she spoke about it. 

One day Venu waited for Haralal to return and 
had a long talk with him. 

“ Master Mashai ! ” he said. “ Father has be- 
come so cantankerous of late that I cannot live with 
him any longer. And, besides, I know that he is 


82 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


getting ready to marry again. Ratikanta is seeking 
a suitable match, and they are always conspiring 
about it. There used to be a time when my father 
would get anxious, if I were absent from home even 
for a few hours. Now, if I am away for more than 
a week, he takes no notice, — indeed he is greatly re- 
lieved. If this marriage takes place, I feel that I 
cannot live in the house any longer. You must show 
me a way out of this. I want to become inde- 
pendent.” 

Haralal felt deeply pained, but he did not know 
how to help his former pupil. Venu said that he 
was determined to go to England and become a bar- 
rister. Somehow or other he must get the passage 
money out of his father: he could borrow it on a 
note of hand and his father would have to pay when 
the creditors filed a suit. With this borrowed money 
he would get away, and when he was in England his 
father was certain to remit his expenses. 

“ But who is there,” Haralal asked, “ who would 
advance you the money? ” 

“ You ! ” said Venu. 

“II” exclaimed Haralal in amazement. 

“ Yes,” said Venu, “ I’ve seen the servant bring- 
ing heaps of money here in bags.” 

“ The servant and the money belong to someone 
else.” 


MASTER MASHAI 


83 

Haralal explained why the money came to his 
house at night, like birds to their nest, to be scattered 
next morning. 

“ But can’t the Manager advance the sum? ” Venu 
asked. 

“ He may do so,” said Haralal, “ if your father 
stands security.” 

The discussion ended at this point. 

x 

One Friday night a carriage and pair stopped 
before Haralal’s lodging house. When Venu was 
announced Haralal was counting money in his bed- 
room, seated on the floor. Venu entered the room 
dressed in a strange manner. He had discarded his 
Bengali dress and was wearing a Parsee coat and 
trousers and had a cap on his head. Rings were 
prominent on almost all the fingers of both hands, 
and a thick gold chain was hanging round his neck: 
there was a gold-watch in his pocket, and diamond 
studs could be seen peeping from his shirt sleeves. 
Haralal at once asked him what was the matter and 
why he was wearing that dress. 

“ My father’s marriage,” said Venu, “ comes off 
to-morrow. He tried hard to keep it from me, but 
I found it out. I asked him to allow me to go to 
our garden-house at Barrackpur for a few days, and 


8 4 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


he was only too glad to get rid of me so easily. I 
am going there, and I wish to God I had never to 
come back.” 

Haralal looked pointedly at the rings on his fingers. 
Venu explained that they had belonged to his mother. 
Haralal then asked him if he had already had his 
dinner. He answered, “ Yes, haven’t you had 
yours? ” 

“ No,” said Haralal, “ I cannot leave this room 
until I have all the money safely locked up in this 
iron chest.” 

“ Go and take your dinner,” said Venu, “ while I 
keep guard here: your mother will be waiting for 
you.” 

For a moment Haralal hesitated, and then he went 
out and had his dinner. In a short time he came 
back with his mother and the three of them sat among 
the bags of money talking together. When it was 
about midnight, Venu took out his watch and looked 
at it and jumped up saying that he would miss his 
train. Then he asked Haralal to keep all his rings 
and his watch and chain until he asked for them 
again. Haralal put them all together in a leather 
bag and laid it in the iron safe. Venu went out. 

The canvas bags containing the currency notes had 
already been placed in the safe : only the loose coins 


MASTER MASHAI 85 

remained to be counted over and put away with the 
rest. 


XI 

Haralal lay down on the floor of the same room, 
with the key under his pillow, and went to sleep. He 
dreamt that Venu’s mother was loudly reproaching 
him from behind the curtain. Her words were in- 
distinct, but rays of different colours from the jewels 
on her body kept piercing the curtain like needles and 
violently vibrating. Haralal struggled to call 
Venu, but his voice seemed to forsake him. At last, 
with a noise, the curtain fell down. Haralal started 
up from his sleep and found darkness piled up round 
about him. A sudden gust of wind had flung open 
the window and put out the light. Haralal’s whole 
body was wet with perspiration. He relighted the 
lamp and saw, by the clock, that it was four in the 
morning. There was no time to sleep again; for he 
had to get ready to start. 

After Haralal had washed his face and hands his 
mother called from her own room, — “ Baba, why 
are you up so soon? n 

It was the habit of Haralal to see his mother’s face 
the first thing in the morning in order to bring a 
blessing upon the day. His mother said to him: 


86 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


“ I was dreaming that you were going out to bring 
back a bride for yourself.” Haralal went to his 
own bedroom and began to take out the bags con- 
taining the silver and the currency notes. 

Suddenly his heart stopped beating. Three of the 
bags appeared to be empty. He knocked them 
against the iron safe, but this only proved his fear 
to be true. He opened them and shook them with 
all his might. Two letters from Venu dropped out 
from one of the bags. One was addressed to his 
father and one to Haralal. 

Haralal tore open his own letter and began read- 
ing. The words seemed to run into one another. 
He trimmed the lamp, but felt as if he could not 
understand what he read. Yet the purport of the 
letter was clear. Venu had taken three thousand 
rupees, in currency notes, and had started for 
England. The steamer was to sail before day-break 
that very mornng. The letter ended with the 
words: “ I am explaining everything in a letter to 
my father. He will pay off the debt; and then, 
again, my mother’s ornaments, which I have left in 
your care, will more than cover the amount I have 
taken.” 

Haralal locked up his room and hired a carriage 
and went with all haste to the jetty. But he did not 
know even the name of the steamer which Venu had 


MASTER MASHAI 


87 


taken. He ran the whole length of the wharves 
from Prinsep’s Ghat to Metiaburuj. He found 
that two steamers had started on their voyage to 
England early that morning. It was impossible for 
him to know which of them carried Venu, or how to 
reach him. 

When Haralal got home, the sun was strong and 
the whole of Calcutta was awake. Everything be- 
fore his eyes seemed blurred. He felt as if he were 
pushing against a fearful obstacle which was bodiless 
and without pity. His mother came on the 
verandah to ask him anxiously where he had gone. 
With a dry laugh he said to her, — “ To bring home 
a bride for myself,” and then he fainted away. 

On opening his eyes after a while, Haralal asked 
his mother to leave him. Entering his room he 
shut the door from the inside while his mother re- 
mained seated on the floor of the verandah in the 
fierce glare of the sun. She kept calling to him fit- 
fully, almost mechanically, — “ Baba, Baba ! ” 

The servant came from the Manager’s office and 
knocked at the door, saying that they would miss the 
train if they did not start out at once. Haralal 
called from inside, “ It will not be possible for me 
to start this morning.” 

“ Then where are we to go, Sir? ” 

“ I will tell you later on.” 


88 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


The servant went downstairs with a gesture of 
impatience. 

Suddenly Haralal thought of the ornaments which 
Venu had left behind. Up till now he had com- 
pletely forgotten about them, but with the thought 
came instant relief. He took the leather bag con- 
taining them, and also Venu’s letter to his father, 
and left the house. 

Before he reached Adharlal’s house he could hear 
the bands playing for the wedding, yet on entering 
he could feel that there had been some disturbance. 
Haralal was told that there had been a theft the 
night before and one or two servants were suspected. 
Adhar Babu was sitting in the upper verandah 
flushed with anger and Ratikanta was smoking his 
hookah. Haralal said to Adhar Babu, “ I have 
something private to tell you.” Adharlal flared up, 
“I have no time now!” He was afraid that 
Haralal had come to borrow money or to ask his 
help. Ratikanta suggested that if there was any 
delicacy in making the request in his presence he 
would leave the place. Adharlal told him angrily to 
sit where he was. Then Haralal handed over the 
bag which Venu had left behind. Adharlal asked 
what was inside it and Haralal opened it and gave 
the contents into his hands. 

Then Adhar Babu said with a sneer : “ It’s a 


MASTER MASHAI 


89 


paying business that you two have started — you 
and your former pupil! You were certain that the 
stolen property would be traced, and so you come 
along with it to me to claim a reward ! ” 

Haralal presented the letter which Venu had 
written to his father. This only made Adharlal all 
the more furious. 

“ What’s all this? ” he shouted, “ I’ll call for the 
police ! My son has not yet come of age, — and 
you have smuggled him out of the country ! I’ll bet 
my soul you’ve lent him a few hundred rupees, and 
then taken a note of hand for three thousand ! But 
I am not going to be bound by this! ” 

“ I never advanced him any money at all,” said 
Haralal. 

“ Then how did he find it? ” said Adharlal, “ Do 
you mean to tell me he broke open your safe and 
stole it? ” 

Haralal stood silent. 

R'atikanta sarcastically remarked: “I don’t 
believe this fellow ever set hands on as much as three 
thousand rupees in his life.” 

When Haralal left the house he seemed to have 
lost the power of dreading anything, or even of being 
anxious. His mind seemed to refuse to work. 
Directly he entered the lane he saw a carriage wait- 
ing before his own lodging. For a moment he felt 


90 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


certain that it was Venu’s. It was impossible to 
believe that his calamity could be so hopelessly final. 

Haralal went up quickly, but found an English 
assistant from the firm sitting inside the carriage. 
The man came out when he saw Haralal and took 
him by the hand and asked him: “ Why didn’t you 
go out by train this morning? ” The servant had 
told the Manager his suspicions and he had sent this 
man to find out. 

Haralal answered: “Notes to the amount of 
three thousand rupees are missing.” 

The man asked how that could have happened. 

Haralal remained silent. 

The man said to Haralal: “ Let us go upstairs 
together and see where you keep your money.” 
They went up to the room and counted the money 
and made a thorough search of the house. 

When the mother saw this she could not contain 
herself any longer. She came out before the 
stranger and said: “ Baba, what has happened? ” 
He answered in broken Hindustani that some money 
had been stolen. 

“Stolen!” the mother cried, “Why! How 
could it be stolen? Who could do such a dastardly 
thing?” Haralal said to her: “Mother, don’t 
say a word.” 

The man collected the remainder of the money and 


MASTER MASHAI 


9i 


told Haralal to come with him to the Manager. 
The mother barred the way and said: 

“ Sir, where are you taking my son? I have 
brought him up, starving and straining to do honest 
work. My son would never touch money belonging 
to others.” 

The Englishman, not knowing Bengali, said, 
“Achcha! Achcha ! ” Haralal told his mother 
not to be anxious; he would explain it all to the 
Manager and soon be back again. The mother en- 
treated him, with a distressed voice, 

“ Baba, you haven’t taken a morsel of food all 
morning.” Haralal stepped into the carriage and 
drove away, and the mother sank to the ground in the 
anguish of her heart. 

The Manager said to Haralal: “Tell me the 
truth. What did happen? ” 

Haralal said to him, “ I haven’t taken any 
money.” 

“ I fully believe it,” said the Manager, “ but surely 
you know who has taken it.” 

Haralal looked on the ground and remained silent. 

“ Somebody,” said the Manager, “ must have 
taken it away with your connivance.” 

“ Nobody,” replied Haralal, “ could take it away 
with my knowledge without taking first my life.” 

“ Look here, Haralal,” said the Manager, “ I 


92 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


trusted you completely. I took no security. I em- 
ployed you in a post of great responsibility. Every 
one in the office was against me for doing so. The 
three thousand rupees is a small matter, but the 
shame of all this to me is a great matter. I will 
do one thing. I will give you the whole day to 
bring back this money. If you do so, I shall say 
nothing about it and I will keep you on in your post.” 

It was now eleven o’clock. Haralal with bent 
head went out of the office. The clerks began to dis- 
cuss the affair with exultation. 

“ What can I do? What can I do?” Haralal 
repeated to himself, as he walked along like one 
dazed, the sun’s heat pouring down upon him. At 
last his mind ceased to think at all about what could 
be done, but the mechanical walk went on without 
ceasing. 

This city of Calcutta, which offered its shelter to 
thousands and thousands of men had become like a 
steel trap. He could see no way out. The whole 
body of people were conspiring to surround and hold 
him captive — this most insignificant of men, whom 
no one knew. Nobody had any special grudge 
against him, yet everybody was his enemy. The 
crowd passed by, brushing against him: the clerks 
of the offices were eating their lunch on the road 
side from their plates made of leaves: a tired way- 


MASTER MASHAI 


93 


farer on the Maidan, under the shade of a tree, 
was lying with one hand beneath his head and one 
leg upraised over the other: The up-country 
women, crowded into hackney carriages, were wend- 
ing their way to the temple: a chuprassie came up 
with a letter and asked him the address on the 
envelope, — so the afternoon went by. 

Then came the time when the offices were all about 
to close. Carriages started off in all directions, 
carrying people back to their homes. The clerks, 
packed tightly on the seats of the trams, looked at 
the theatre advertisements as they returned to their 
lodgings. From to-day, Haralal had neither his 
work in the office, nor release from work in the 
evening. He had no need to hurry to catch the tram 
to take him to his home. All the busy occupations of 
the city — the buildings — the horses and carriages 
— the incessant traffic — seemed, now at one time, 
to swell into dreadful reality, and at another time, 
to subside into the shadowy unreal. 

Haralal had taken neither food, nor rest, nor 
shelter all that day. 

The street lamps were lighted from one road to 
another and it seemed to him that a watchful dark- 
ness, like some demon, was keeping its eyes wide 
open to guard every movement of its victim. 
Haralal did not even have the energy to enquire 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


94 

how late it was. The veins on his forehead 
throbbed, and he felt as if his head would burst. 
Through the paroxysms of pain, which alternated 
with the apathy of dejection, only one thought came 
again and again to his mind; among the innumerable 
multitudes in that vast city, only one name found 
its way through his dry throat, — “ Mother ! ” 

He said to himself, “ At the deep of night, when 
no one is awake to capture me — me, who am the 
least of all men, — I will silently creep to my 
mother’s arms and fall asleep, and may I never wake 
again ! ” 

Haralal’s one trouble was lest some police officer 
should molest him in the presence of his mother, and 
this kept him back from going home. When it be- 
came impossible for him at last to bear the weight 
of his own body, he hailed a carriage. The driver 
asked him where he wanted to go. He said: 
“ Nowhere, I want to drive across the Maidan to 
get the fresh air.” The man at first did not believe 
him and was about to drive on, when Haralal put a 
rupee into his hand as an advance payment. There- 
upon the driver crossed, and then re-crossed, the 
Maidan from one side to the other, traversing the 
different roads. 

Haralal laid his throbbing head on the side of the 
open window of the carriage and closed his eyes. 


MASTER MASHAI 


95 


Slowly all the pain abated. His body became cool. 
A deep and intense peace filled his heart and a 
supreme deliverance seemed to embrace him on 
every side. It was not true, — the day’s despair 
which threatened him with its grip of utter helpless- 
ness. It was not true, it was false. He knew now 
that it was only an empty fear of the mind. Deliv- 
erance was in the infinite sky and there was no end 
to peace. No king or emperor in the world had the 
power to keep captive this nonentity, this Haralal. 
In the sky, surrounding his emancipated heart on 
every side, he felt the presence of his mother, that 
one poor woman. She seemed to grow and grow 
till she filled the infinity of darkness. All the roads 
and buildings and shops of Calcutta gradually be- 
came enveloped by her. In her presence vanished 
all the aching pains and thoughts and consciousness 
of Haralal. It burst, — that bubble filled with the 
hot vapour of pain. And now there was neither 
darkness nor light, but only one tense fulness. 

The Cathedral clock struck one. The driver 
called out impatiently: “ Babu, my horse can’t go 
on any longer. Where do you want to go? ” 

There came no answer. 

The driver came down and shook Haralal and 
asked him again where he wanted to go. 

There came no answer. 


96 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


And the answer was never received from Haralal, 
where he wanted to go. 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

broker. This word meant originally a “ broacher,” one 
who broached or made a hole in casks of wine to test 
their value for sale. Then it came to mean a middle- 
man in a sale. 

attorney. This word comes from the Old French 
“ tourner ” meaning to turn. The original sense of 
the word is “one who turns or transfers (property),” 
and thus it comes to mean one who is appointed to do 
legal business in the name of another. Compare the 
phrase “power of attorney” 

mortgage. This comes from the two words “ mort-” 
meaning “ death ” and “ gage ” meaning “ pledge,” — 
a death pledge. It is used for the transfer of property 
as a pledge or guarantee that the debt will be paid. 
Compare mortuary , mortal , mortify , mortmain ; also 
compare engage , disengage , wage, wager . 
repulsed. From the Latin “ puls-” meaning “ to drive.” 
This Latin root has another form “ pel,” also meaning 
“to drive.” We have thus two series of words: — 
repel, impel, compel, expel, dispel, and 
repulse, impulse (noun), compulsion, expulsion. 
amiability. This word comes from the Latin “ amicus ” 
friend and is the same in origin as “ amicability.” 
Compare amicable and amiable. 
salary. This originally meant " salt-m oney ” from the 
Latin “ sal ” meaning “ salt.” First, it meant the 
“ salt-money ” given to soldiers, then it meant a fixed 
pay. Compare the use of namak in India, — namak 
khana, — which is somewhat similar, 
liliputian. This word has come into the English language 
from a famous story book called “ Gulliver’s Travels.” 


MASTER MASHAI 


97 


“ Liliput ” was a place where tiny people lived and 
“ Brobdingnag ” was a place where giants lived. 
These two words are therefore sometimes used, in an 
amusing manner, to represent respectively the land of 
dwarfs and the land of giants. 

B.A. degree. These titles were originally used in the old 
medieval universities of Europe. The word “ bachelor ” 
was taken from its use in chivalry, where it meant a 
young knight not yet fully qualified or equipped. Then 
came the “ Master,” or fully qualified person. A sec- 
ondary meaning of bachelor, which is now the most 
common, is “ an unmarried person,” — a man not be- 
ing considered fully qualified or equipped till he is mar- 
ried. 

romance. This word has a very interesting history. The 
Latin language was the literary language of the South 
of Europe for many centuries and the vernacular lan- 
guages were despised. The word for “ vernacular ” 
was “ romanicus ” as contrasted with “ Latinus,” i.e. 
Latin. The old folk stories of the Middle Ages were 
written in the vernacular or “ romance ” languages, 
and as these stories were strange and mysterious, the 
word romance became used for this kind of literature. 

pathetic. From the Greek word “ pathos ” meaning “ suf- 
fering.” Compare pathos , sympathy , pathology, elec- 
tropathy, allopathy, homoeopathy. 

dilapidated. From the Latin “ lapis ” meaning a “ stone.” 
It probably means to separate stone from stone. Com- 
pare lapidary, dilapidation. 

intermediate. From the Latin “ medius ” meaning “mid- 
dle.” Compare mediate, immediate, medium, medioc- 
rity, mediator. 

police. From the Greek “ polis ” meaning a “ city.” Com- 
pare politics, policy, metropolis, politician. 

barrister. From the word “ bar.” There was a bar in 
the law court, from which the lawyer pleaded his case. 


98 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


So the pleader was called a bar-i ster. Compare the 
phrase " called to the Bar ” 

obstacle. From the Latin root “ sta-” meaning to stand. 
Compare obstinate , station, status, statute, instant, dis- 
tance, constant. 

dastardly. A word of doubtful origin, — probably akin to 
the word “ dazed.” 

reality. From the Latin word “ res ” meaning a “ thing.” 
Compare real , unreal, realize, republic, really, realiza- 
tion. 

alternated. From the Latin “alter” meaning “other.” 

Compare alteration, alternative, alter, altercate. 
infinity. From the Latin “finis” meaning “end.” Com- 
pare finish, finite, definite, confine. 






% 







SUBHA 







•j 

0 

» 

> 

f 







VI 

SUBHA 


When the girl was given the name of Subhashini, 
who could have guessed that she would prove dumb? 
Her two elder sisters were Sukeshini and Suhasini, 
and for the sake of uniformity her father named 
his youngest girl Subhashini. She was called Subha 
for short. 

Her two elder sisters had been married with the 
usual cost and difficulty, and now the youngest 
daughter lay like a silent weight upon the heart of 
her parents. All the world seemed to think that, 
because she did not speak, therefore she did not feel; 
it discussed her future and its own anxiety freely 
in her presence. She had understood from her 
earliest childhood that God had sent her like a curse 
to her father’s house, so she withdrew herself from 
ordinary people and tried to live apart. If only 
they would all forget her she felt she could endure 
it. But who can forget pain? Night and day her 
parents’ minds were aching on her account. Espe- 
cially her mother looked upon her as a deformity 


IOI 


102 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


in herself. To a mother a daughter is a more 
closely intimate part of herself than a son can be; 
and a fault in her is a source of personal shame. 
Banikantha, Subha’s father, loved her rather better 
than his other daughters; her mother regarded her 
with aversion as a stain upon her own body. 

If Subha lacked speech, she did not lack a pair of 
large dark eyes, shaded with long lashes; and her lips 
trembled like a leaf in response to any thought that 
rose in her mind. 

When we express our thought in words, the 
medium is not found easily. There must be a 
process of translation, which is often inexact, and 
then we fall into error. But black eyes need no 
translating; the mind itself throws a shadow upon 
them. In them thought opens or shuts, shines forth 
or goes out in darkness, hangs steadfast like the 
setting moon or like the swift and restless lightning 
illumines all quarters of the sky. They who from 
birth have had no other speech than the trembling 
of their lips learn a language of the eyes, endless in 
expression, deep as the sea, clear as the heavens, 
Wherein play dawn and sunset, light and shadow. 
The dumb have a lonely grandeur like Nature’s own. 
Wherefore the other children almost dreaded Subha 
and never played with her. She was silent and com- 
panionless as noontide. 


SUBHA 


103 


The hamlet where she lived was Chandipur. Its 
river, small for a river of Bengal, kept to its narrow 
bounds like a daughter of the middle class. This 
busy streak of water never overflowed its banks, but 
went about its duties as though it were a member of 
every family in the villages beside it. On either side 
were houses and banks shaded with trees. So 
stepping from her queenly throne, the river-goddess 
became a garden deity of each home, and forgetful 
of herself performed her task of endless benediction 
with swift and cheerful foot. 

Banikantha’s house looked out upon the stream. 
Every hut and stack in the place could be seen by 
the passing boatmen. I know not if amid these 
signs of worldly wealth any one noticed the little 
girl who, when her work was done, stole away to 
the waterside and sat there. But here Nature ful- 
filled her want of speech and spoke for her. The 
murmur of the brook, the voice of the village folk, 
the songs of the boatmen, the crying of the birds 
and rustle of trees mingled and were one with the 
trembling of her heart. They became one vast 
wave of sound which beat upon her restless soul. 
This murmur and movement of Nature were the 
dumb girl’s language; that speech of the dark eyes, 
which the long lashes shaded, was the language of 
the world about her. From the trees, where the 


104 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


cicalas chirped, to the quiet stars there was nothing 
but signs and gestures, weeping and sighing. And in 
the deep mid-noon, when the boatmen and fisher- 
folk had gone to their dinner, when the villagers 
slept and birds were still, when the ferry-boats were 
idle, when the great busy world paused in its toil 
and became suddenly a lonely, awful giant, then 
beneath the vast impressive heavens there were only 
dumb Nature and a dumb girl, sitting very silent, — 
one under the spreading sunlight, the other where 
a small tree cast its shadow. 

But Subha was not altogether without friends. 
In the stall were two cows, Sarbbashi and Panguli. 
They had never heard their names from her lips, 
but they knew her footfall. Though she had no 
words, she murmured lovingly and they understood 
her gentle murmuring better than all speech. When 
she fondled them or scolded or coaxed them, they 
understood her better than men could do. Subha 
would come to the shed and throw her arms round 
Sarbbashi’s neck; she would rub her cheek against 
her friend’s, and Panguli would turn her great kind 
eyes and lick her face. The girl paid them three 
regular visits every day and others that were ir- 
regular. Whenever she heard any words that hurt 
her, she would come to these dumb friends out of 
due time. It was as though they guessed her anguish 


SUBHA 


105 


of spirit from her quiet look of sadness. Coming 
close to her, they would rub their horns softly against 
her arms, and in dumb, puzzled fashion try to com- 
fort her. Besides these two, there were goats and 
a kitten; but Subha had not the same equality of 
friendship with them, though they showed the same 
attachment. Every time it got a chance, night or 
day, the kitten would jump into her lap, and settle 
down to slumber, and show its appreciation of an 
aid to sleep as Subha drew her soft fingers over its 
neck and back. 

Subha had a comrade also among the higher 
animals, and it is hard to say what were the girl’s 
relations with him; for he could speak, and his gift 
of speech left them without any common language. 
He was the youngest boy of the Gosains, Pratap by 
name, an idle fellow. After long effort, his parents 
had abandoned the hope that he would ever make his 
living. Now losels have this advantage, that, 
though their own folk disapprove of them, they are 
generally popular with every one else. Having no 
work to chain them, they become public property. 
Just as every town needs an open space where all 
may breathe, so a village needs two or three gentle- 
men of leisure, who can give time to all; then, if we 
are lazy and want a companion, one is to hand. 

Pratap’s chief ambition was to catch fish. He 


10 6 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

managed to waste a lot of time this way, and might 
be seen almost any afternoon so employed. It was 
thus most often that he met Subha. Whatever he 
was about, he liked a companion; and, when one 
is catching fish, a silent companion is best of all. 
Pratap respected Subha for her taciturnity, and, as 
every one called her Subha, he showed his affection 
by calling her Su. Subha used to sit beneath a 
tamarind, and Pratap, a little distance off, would 
cast his line. Pratap took with him a small allow- 
ance of betel, and Subha prepared it for him. And 
I think that, sitting and gazing a long while, she 
desired ardently to bring some great help to Pratap, 
to be of real aid, to prove by any means that she 
was not a useless burden to the world. But there 
was nothing to do. Then she turned to the Creator 
in prayer for some rare power, that by an astonish- 
ing miracle she might startle Pratap into exclaim- 
ing: “ My ! I never dreamt our Su could have done 
this! ” 

Only think, if Subha had been a water nymph, she 
might have risen slowly from the river, bringing 
the gem of a snake’s crown to the landing-place. 
Then Pratap, leaving his paltry fishing, might dive 
into the lower world, and see there, on a golden bed 
in a palace of silver, whom else but dumb little 
Su, Banikantha’s child? Yes, our Su, the only 


SUBHA 


107 


daughter of the king of that shining city of jewels! 
But that might not be, it was impossible. Not that 
anything is really impossible, but Su had been born, 
not into the royal house of Patalpur, but into 
Banikantha’s family, and she knew no means of 
astonishing the Gosains’ boy. 

Gradually she grew up. Gradually she began to 
find herself. A new inexpressible consciousness like 
a tide from the central places of the sea, when the 
moon is full, swept through her. She saw herself, 
questioned herself, but no answer came that she could 
understand. 

Once upon a time, late on a night of full moon, 
she slowly opened her door and peeped out timidly. 
Nature, herself at full moon, like lonely Subha, was 
looking down on the sleeping earth. Her strong 
young life beat within her; joy and sadness filled her 
being to its brim; she reached the limits even of her 
own illimitable loneliness, nay, passed beyond them. 
Her heart was heavy, and she could not speak. At 
the skirts of this silent troubled Mother there stood 
a silent troubled girl. 

The thought of her marriage filled her parents 
with an anxious care. People blamed them, and 
even talked of making them outcasts. Banikantha 
was well off; they had fish-curry twice daily; and 
consequently he did not lack enemies. Then the 


108 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

women interfered, and Bani went away for a few 
days. Presently he returned and said: “ We must 
go to Calcutta.” 

They got ready to go to this strange country. 
Subha’s heart was heavy with tears, like a mist- 
wrapt dawn. With a vague fear that had been 
gathering for days, she dogged her father and 
mother like a dumb animal. With her large eyes 
wide open, she scanned their faces as though she 
wished to learn something. But not a word did 
they vouchsafe. One afternoon in the midst of all 
this, as Pratap was fishing, he laughed: “ So then, 
Su, they have caught your bridegroom, and you are 
going to be married! Mind you don’t forget me 
altogether ! ” Then he turned his mind again to his 
fish. As a stricken doe looks in the hunter’s face, 
asking in silent agony: “What have I done to 
you?” so Subha looked at Pratap. That day she 
sat no longer beneath her tree. Banikantha, having 
finished his nap, was smoking in his bedroom when 
Subha dropped down at his feet and burst out weep- 
ing as she gazed towards him. Banikantha tried to 
comfort her, and his cheek grew wet with tears. 

It was settled that on the morrow they should go 
to Calcutta. Subha went to the cow-shed to bid fare- 
well to her childhood’s comrades. She fed them 
with her hand; she clasped their necks; she looked 


SUBHA 


109 


into their faces, and tears fell fast from the eyes 
which spoke for her. That night was the tenth of 
the moon. Subha left her room, and flung herself 
down on her grassy couch beside her dear river. 
It was as if she threw her arms about Earth, her 
strong silent mother, and tried to say: “ Do not let 
me leave you, mother. Put your arms about me, as 
I have put mine about you, and hold me fast.” 

One day in a house in Calcutta, Subha’s mother 
dressed her up with great care. She imprisoned 
her hair, knotting it up in laces, she hung her about 
with ornaments, and did her best to kill her natural 
beauty. Subha’s eyes filled with tears. Her 
mother, fearing they would grow swollen with weep- 
ing, scolded her harshly, but the tears disregarded 
the scolding. The bridegroom came with a friend 
to inspect the bride. Her parents were dizzy with 
anxiety and fear when they saw the god arrive to 
select the beast for his sacrifice. Behind the stage, 
the mother called her instructions aloud, and in- 
creased her daughter’s weeping twofold, before she 
sent her into the examiner’s presence. The great 
man, after scanning her a long time, observed: 
“ Not so bad.” 

He took special note of her tears, and thought 
she must have a tender heart. He put it to her 
credit in the account, arguing that the heart, which 


no 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


to-day was distressed at leaving her parents, would 
presently prove a useful possession. Like the 
oyster’s pearls, the child’s tears only increased her 
value, and he made no other comment. 

The almanac was consulted, and the marriage took 
place on an auspicious day. Having delivered over 
their dumb girl into another’s hands, Subha’s parents 
returned home. Thank God! Their caste in this 
and their safety in the next world were assured! 
The bridegroom’s work lay in the west, and shortly 
after the marriage he took his wife thither. 

In less than ten days every one knew that the 
bride was dumb! At least, if any one did not, it 
was not her fault, for she deceived no one. Her 
eyes told them everything, though no one under- 
stood her. She looked on every hand, she found 
no speech, she missed the faces, familiar from birth, 
of those who had understood a dumb girl’s language. 
In her silent heart there sounded an endless, voice- 
less weeping, which only the Searcher of Hearts 
could hear. 


WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

uniformity. From the Latin “ unus,” meaning “ one ” and 
“ forma ” meaning “ form.” Compare universe , uni- 
son, unite, formalism, formation, reform, deformed, 
deformity (the last word occurs in the next paragraph 
of the story). 


SUBHA 


hi 


translation. The Latin word meaning “ to bring ” has 
two roots, viz. “ fer ” and “ lat.” This word is taken 
from the second root. We have the two parallel series 
of words in English: 

transfer, refer, confer, differ, etc. 
translate, relate, collate, dilate, etc. 
puzzled. This is one of the few words in the English lan- 
guage whose origin is doubtful. It probably comes 
from the word to “ pose ” (which itself is a shortened 
form of “oppose”) meaning to set forward a difficult 
problem. 

losels. An uncommon English word meaning a person 
who is good for nothing. The word is derived from 
the verb to “ lose.” 

taciturnity. The Latin word “ tacitus,” means “ quiet ” 
or “ silent.” Compare tacit, tacitly, reticence, reticent. 
My! This is used by common people in England. It is 
probably the short form of “ My eye! ” 
dogged. The word in this sense means to follow like a 
dog; to follow closely. From this we have the ad- 
jective “ dogged ” pronounced as two syllables dog-ged, 
meaning persevering, persistent, never giving in, e.g. 
dogged courage. 

disregarded. From the French “ garder ” or “ guarder,” 
meaning “ to keep.” This French word appears in 
many English forms. Compare reward, guard, guer- 
don, guardian, ward, warder, regard. 
dizzy. This word comes from an old Saxon root, which has 
left many words in modern English. Compare daze, 
dazed, dazzle, doze, drowse , drowsy. 
deceived. From the Latin word “ capere,” meaning to take. 
The English verbs such as “ receive,” “ conceive,” 
“ perceive ” have come into English from the French. 
The Latin root is more clearly seen in the nouns such 
as “ deception,” “ reception,” “ perception,” etc. It 
should be carefully noticed that these “French” forms 


I 12 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


are spelt eive instead of teve. A simple rule is this, 
that after c write ei not ie, but after other consonants 
write ie. Compare the spelling of believe , grieve , re- 
lieve with that of receive , deceive. 


THE POSTMASTER 


VII 

THE POSTMASTER 

The postmaster first took up his duties in the village 
of Ulapur. Though the village was a small one, 
there was an indigo factory near by, and the 
proprietor, an Englishman, had managed to get a 
post office established. 

Our postmaster belonged to Calcutta. He felt 
like a fish out of water in this remote village. His 
office and living-room were in a dark thatched shed, 
not far from a green, slimy pond, surrounded on all 
sides by a dense growth. 

The men employed in the indigo factory had no 
leisure; moreover, they were hardly desirable com- 
panions for decent folk. Nor is a Calcutta boy 
an adept in the art of associating with others. 
Among strangers he appears either proud or ill at 
ease. At any rate, the postmaster had but little 
company; nor had he much to do. 

At times he tried his hand at writing a verse or 
two. That the movement of the leaves and the 
clouds of the sky were enough to fill life with joy 
115 


ii 6 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

— such were the sentiments to which he sought to 
give expression. But God knows that the poor 
fellow would have felt it as the gift of a new life, 
if some genie of the Arabian Nights had in one 
night swept away the trees, leaves and all, and re- 
placed them with a macadamised road, hiding the 
clouds from view with rows of tall houses. 

The postmaster’s salary was small. He had to 
cook his own meals, which he used to share with 
Ratan, an orphan girl of the village, who did odd 
jobs for him. 

When in the evening the smoke began to curl up 
from the village cowsheds, and the cicalas chirped 
in every bush; when the mendicants of the Baiil 
sect sang their shrill songs in their daily meeting- 
place, when any poet, who had attempted to watch 
the movement of the leaves in the dense bamboo 
thickets, would have felt a ghostly shiver run down 
his back, the postmaster would light his little lamp, 
and call out “ Ratan.” 

Ratan would sit outside waiting for this call, and, 
instead of coming in at once, would reply, “ Did 
you call me, sir? ” 

“ What are you doing? ” the postmaster would 
ask. 

“ I must be going to light the kitchen fire,” would 
be the answer. 


THE POSTMASTER 


117 

And the postmaster would say: u Oh, let the 
kitchen fire be for awhile; light me my pipe first.” 

At last Ratan would enter, with puffed-out cheeks, 
vigorously blowing into a flame a live coal to light 
the tobacco. This would give the postmaster an 
opportunity of conversing. “ Well, Ratan,” per- 
haps he would begin, “ do you remember anything 
of your mother? ” That was a fertile subject. 
Ratan partly remembered, and partly didn’t. Her 
father had been fonder of her than her mother; 
him she recollected more vividly. He used to come 
home in the evening after his work, and one or two 
evenings stood out more clearly than others, like 
pictures in her memory. Ratan would sit on the 
floor near the postmaster’s feet, as memories 
crowded in upon her. She called to mind a little 
brother that she had — and how on some bygone 
cloudy day she had played at fishing with him on the 
edge of the pond, with a twig for a make-believe 
fishing-rod. Such little incidents would drive out 
greater events from her mind. Thus, as they talked, 
it would often get very late, and the postmaster 
would feel too lazy to do any cooking at all. Ratan 
would then hastily light the fire, and toast some un- 
leavened bread, which, with the cold remnants of the 
morning meal, was enough for their supper. 

On some evenings, seated at his desk in the corner 


1 18 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

of the big empty shed, the postmaster too would call 
up memories of his own home, of his mother and 
his sister, of those for whom in his exile his heart 
was sad, — memories which were always haunting 
him, but which he could not talk about with the men 
of the factory, though he found himself naturally 
recalling them aloud in the presence of the simple 
little girl. And so it came about that the girl would 
allude to his people as mother, brother, and sister, 
as if she had known them all her life. In fact, she 
had a complete picture of each one of them painted 
in her little heart. 

One noon, during a break in the rains, there was 
a cool soft breeze blowing; the smell of the damp 
grass and leaves in the hot sun felt like the warm 
breathing of the tired earth on one’s body. A per- 
sistent bird went on all the afternoon repeating the 
burden of its one complaint in Nature’s audience 
chamber. 

The postmaster had nothing to do. The shimmer 
of the freshly washed leaves, and the banked-up 
remnants of the retreating rain-clouds were sights to 
see; and the postmaster was watching them and 
thinking to himself: “ Oh, if only some kindred soul 
were near — just one loving human being whom I 
could hold near my heart! ” This was exactly, he 
went on to think, what that bird was trying to say, 


THE POSTMASTER 


119 

and it was the same feeling which the murmuring 
leaves were striving to express. But no one knows, 
or would believe, that such an idea might also take 
possession of an ill-paid village postmaster in the 
deep, silent mid-day interval of his work. 

The postmaster sighed, and called out “ Ratan.” 
Ratan was then sprawling beneath the guava-tree, 
busily engaged in eating unripe guavas. At the voice 
of her master, she ran up breathlessly, saying: 
“ Were you calling me, Dada? ” “ I was thinking,” 

said the postmaster, “ of teachnig you to read.” 
And then for the rest of the afternoon he taught her 
the alphabet. 

Thus, in a very short time, Ratan had got as far 
as the double consonants. 

It seemed as though the showers of the season 
would never end. Canals, ditches, and hollows were 
all overflowing with water. Day and night the 
patter of rain was heard, and the croaking of frogs. 
The village roads became impassable, and marketing 
had to be done in punts. 

One heavily clouded morning, the postmaster’s 
little pupil had been long waiting outside the door 
for her call, but, not hearing it as usual, she took 
up her dog-eared book, and slowly entered the room. 
She found her master stretched out on his bed, and, 
thinking that he was resting, she was about to retire 


120 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


on tip-toe, when she suddenly heard her name — 
“Ratan!” She turned at once and asked: 
“Were you sleeping, Dada?” The postmaster in 
a plaintive voice said: “ I am not well. Feel my 
head; is it very hot?” 

In the loneliness of his exile, and in the gloom 
of the rains, his ailing body needed a little tender 
nursing. He longed to remember the touch on the 
forehead of soft hands with tinkling bracelets, to 
imagine the presence of loving womanhood, the near- 
ness of mother and sister. And the exile was not 
disappointed. Ratan ceased to be a little girl. She 
at once stepped into the post of mother, called in 
the village doctor, gave the patient his pills at the 
proper intervals, sat up all night by his pillow, cooked 
his gruel for him, and every now and then asked: 
“ Are you feeling a little better, Dada? ” 

It was some time before the postmaster, with 
weakened body, was able to leave his sick-bed. 
“ No more of this,” said he with decision. “ I must 
get a transfer.” He at once wrote off to Calcutta 
an application for a transfer, on the ground of the 
unhealthiness of the place. 

Relieved from her duties as nurse, Ratan again 
took up her old place outside the door. But she no 
longer heard the same old call. She would some- 
times peep inside furtively to find the postmaster 


THE POSTMASTER 


I 2 I 


sitting on his chair, or stretched on his bed, and 
staring absent-mindedly into the air. While Ratan 
was awaiting her call, the postmaster was awaiting 
a reply to his application. The girl read her old 
lessons over and over again, — her great fear was 
lest, when the call came, she might be found want- 
ing in the double consonants. At last, after a week, 
the call did come one evening. With an overflowing 
heart Ratan rushed into the room with her — “ Were 
you calling me, Dada?” 

The postmaster said: “I am going away to- 
morrow, Ratan.” 

“ Where are you going, Dada? ” 

“ I am going home.” 

“ When will you come back? ” 

“ I am not coming back.” 

Ratan asked no other question. The postmaster, 
of his own accord, went on to tell her that his appli- 
cation for a transfer had been rejected, so he had 
resigned his post and was going home. 

For a long time neither of them spoke another 
word. The lamp went on dimly burning, and from 
a leak in one corner of the thatch water dripped 
steadily into an earthen vessel on the floor beneath 
it. 

After a while Ratan rose, and went off to the 
kitchen to prepare the meal; but she was not so 


122 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


quick about it as on other days. Many new things 
to think of had entered her little brain. When the 
postmaster had finished his supper, the girl suddenly 
asked him: “ Dada, will you take me to your 
home? ” 

The postmaster laughed. “ What an idea ! ” said 
he ; but he did not think it necessary to explain to the 
girl wherein lay the absurdity. 

That whole night, in her waking and in her 
dreams, the postmaster’s laughing reply haunted her 
—“What an idea ! ” 

On getting up in the morning, the postmaster 
found his bath ready. He had stuck to his Calcutta 
habit of bathing in water drawn and kept in pitchers, 
instead of taking a plunge in the river as was the 
custom of the village. For some reason or other, 
the girl could not ask him about the time of his 
departure, so she had fetched the water from the 
river long before sunrise, that it should be ready 
as early as he might want it. After the bath came a 
call for Ratan. She entered noiselessly, and looked 
silently into her master’s face for orders. The 
master said: “ You need not be anxious about my 
going away, Ratan; I shall tell my successor to look 
after you.” These words were kindly meant, no 
doubt: but inscrutable are the ways of a woman’s 
heart! 


THE POSTMASTER 


123 


Ratan had borne many a scolding from her 
master without complaint, but these kind words she 
could not bear. She burst out weeping, and said: 
“ No, no, you need not tell anybody anything at all 
about me; I don’t want to stay on here.” 

The postmaster was dumbfounded. He had 
never seen Ratan like this before. 

The new incumbent duly arrived, and the post- 
master, having given over charge, prepared to de- 
part. Just before starting he called Ratan and 
said: “ Here is something for you; I hope it will 
keep you for some little time.” He brought out 
from his pocket the whole of his month’s salary, re- 
taining only a trifle for his travelling expenses. 
Then Ratan fell at his feet and cried: “ Oh, Dada, 
I pray you, don’t give me anything, don’t in 
any way trouble about me,” and then she ran away 
out of sight. 

The postmaster heaved a sigh, took up his carpet 
bag, put his umbrella over his shoulder, and, ac- 
companied by a man carrying his many-coloured tin 
trunk, he slowly made for the boat. 

When he got in and the boat was under way, 
and the rain-swollen river, like a stream of tears 
welling up from the earth, swirled and sobbed at her 
bows, then he felt a pain at heart; the grief-stricken 
face of a village girl seemed to represent for him the 


124 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


great unspoken pervading grief of Mother Earth 
herself. At one time he had an impulse to go back, 
and bring away along with him that lonesome waif, 
forsaken of the world. But the wind had just filled 
the sails, the boat had got well into the middle of 
the turbulent current, and already the village was left 
behind, and its outlying burning-ground came in 
sight. 

So the traveller, borne on the breast of the swift- 
flowing river, consoled himself with philosophical 
reflections on the numberless meetings and partings 
going on in the world — on death, the great parting, 
from which none returns. 

But Ratan had no philosophy. She was wander- 
ing about the post office in a flood of tears. It may 
be that she had still a lurking hope in some corner 
of her heart that her Dada would return, and that 
is why she could not tear herself away. Alas for 
our foolish human nature ! Its fond mistakes are 
persistent. The dictates of reason take a long time 
to assert their own sway. The surest proofs mean- 
while are disbelieved. False hope is clung to with 
all one’s might and main, till a day comes when it 
has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks 
through its bonds and departs. After that comes 
the misery of awakening, and then once again the 


THE POSTMASTER 


125 

longing to get back into the maze of the same mis- 
takes. 


WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

indigo. This word has a very interesting history. It 
means “ Indian.” The celebrated dark-blue dye came 
from India. This dye was first known to the Greeks 
who called it “ Indikon,” then to the Latins who called 
it Indicum, then to the Italians and Spaniards who 
called it Indigo. It was introduced into England from 
Italy by artists and painters who kept the Italian word 
“ indigo ” without change. 

genie. There is a Latin word “ genius,” meaning origin- 
ally a spirit inhabiting a special place. It is from this 
word that our English common noun “ genius ” is 
taken, meaning a specially gifted or inspired person, 
e.g. “ a man of genius.” But in the Arabian Nights a 
completely different Arabic word is found, viz. “ jinn ” 
with its feminine form “ jinni.” This was written in 
English “ genie ” and was confused with the word 
“ genius.” The plural of genie when used in this sense 
is genii, which is really the plural of the Latin word 
genius. 

macadamised. This is quite a modern word in English. 
It comes from the name of the inventor of this kind of 
road-paving, who was Mr. J. L. Macadam. He dis- 
covered that different layers of small stone rolled in, 
one after the other, can stand the wear and tear of 
traffic. We have similar words from proper names. 
Compare, boycott , burke , lynch , etc. 

allude. From the Latin “ ludere,” to play. Compare 
prelude , interlude, delude, collusion, elude, elusive, al- 
lusion. 

guava. This word came into English from the Spanish. 
It is of great interest to trace the names of the fruits in 


126 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


English back to their sources, e. g. currant , comes from 
Corinth; mango from the Portuguese manga (from 
the Tamil “ mankay ” fruit-tree) ; orange from the 
Arabic “ narang ” and Hindustani “ narangi ” ; apricot 
from Arabic al-burquq; date from the Greek “ dak- 
tulos,” meaning “ finger.” 

alphabet. The two first letters in the Greek language are 
called “ alpha ” and “ beta.” Then the whole series 
of letters was named an alphabeta or alphabet. 

consonants. From the Latin “ sonare,” meaning to sound. 
Consonants are letters which “ sound with ” the vow- 
els. Compare dissonant, assonance, sonant, sonorous, 
sonata. 

canal. This is one example of a word taken into English 
from the Latin, through the French, having a com- 
panion word in English. The companion word in this 
case is channel. Compare cavalry and chivalry , legal 
and loyal, guard and ward. 

dumbfounded. This word has come into the English lan- 
guage from common speech. It is a mixture of the 
English word dumb, and the Latin “ fundere,” “ to 
pour ” which we find in confound, profound, confusion. 
It is not often that we get such hybrid words in earlier 
English, though to-day they are becoming common in 
the case of new words such as motorcar, speedometer, 
airplane, waterplane, automobile, etc. The old rule 
used to be that a compound word in English should 
have both its parts from the same language (e.g. both 
parts Latin, or Greek, or Saxon, etc.). But this rule 
is rapidly breaking down in common practice as new 
words rush into the English language to express all the 
new discoveries of science. We have English and 
Greek roots mixed (such as airplane ), and Latin and 
Greek roots mixed (such as oleograph). 


THE CASTAWAY 



VIII 

THE CASTAWAY 

Towards evening the storm was at its height. 
From the terrific downpour of rain, the crash of 
thunder, and the repeated flashes of lightning, you 
might think that a battle of the gods and demons 
was raging in the skies. Black clouds waved like 
the Flags of Doom. The Ganges was lashed into a 
fury, and the trees of the gardens on either bank 
swayed from side to side with sighs and groans. 

In a closed room of one of the riverside houses at 
Chandernagore, a husband and his wife were seated 
on a bed spread on the floor, intently discussing. 
An earthen lamp burned beside them. 

The husband, Sharat, was saying: “ I wish you 
would stay on a few days more; you would then be 
able to return home quite strong again.” 

The wife, Kiran, was saying: “ I have quite re- 
covered already. It will not, cannot possibly, do 
me any harm to go home now.” 

Every married person will at once understand that 
the conversation was not quite so brief as I have 


129 


130 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


reported it. The matter was not difficult, but the 
arguments for and against did not advance it towards 
a solution. Like a rudderless boat, the discussion 
kept turning round and round the same point; and 
at last threatened to be overwhelmed in a flood of 
tears. 

Sharat said : “ The doctor thinks you should stop 

here a few days longer.” 

Kiran replied: “Your doctor knows every- 
thing ! ” 

“ Well,” said Sharat, “ you know that just now 
all sorts of illnesses are abroad. You would do well 
to stop here a month or two more.” 

“ And at this moment I suppose every one in this 
place is perfectly well ! ” 

What had happened was this: Kiran was a 
universal favourite with her family and neighbours, 
so that, when she fell seriously ill, they were all 
anxious. The village wiseacres thought it shameless 
for her husband to make so much fuss about a mere 
wife and even to suggest a change of air, and asked 
if Sharat supposed that no woman had ever been ill 
before, or whether he had found out that the folk 
of the place to which he meant to take her were 
immortal. Did he imagine that the writ of Fate 
did not run there? But Sharat and his mother 
turned a deaf ear to them, thinking that the little 


THE CASTAWAY 


131 

life of their darling was of greater importance than 
the united wisdom of a village. People are wont 
to reason thus when danger threatens their loved 
ones. So Sharat went to Chandernagore, and 
Kiran recovered, though she was still very weak. 
There was a pinched look on her face which filled 
the beholder with pity, and made his heart tremble, 
as he thought how narrowly she had escaped death. 

Kiran was fond of society and amusement; the 
loneliness of her riverside villa did not suit her at 
all. There was nothing to do, there were no in- 
teresting neighbours, and she hated to be busy all 
day with medicine and dieting. There was no fun 
in measuring doses and making fomentations. Such 
was the subject discussed in their closed room on this 
stormy evening. 

So long as Kiran deigned to argue, there was a 
chance of a fair fight. When she ceased to reply, 
and with a toss of her head disconsolately looked 
the other way, the poor man was disarmed. He 
was on the point of surrendering unconditionally 
when a servant shouted a message through the shut 
door. 

Sharat got up and on opening the door learnt that 
a boat had been upset in the storm, and that one of 
the occupants, a young Brahmin boy, had succeeded 
in swimming ashore at their garden. 


132 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Kiran was at once her own sweet self and set 
to work to get out some dry clothes for the boy. 
She then warmed a cup of milk and invited him to 
her room. 

The boy had long curly hair, big expressive eyes, 
and no sign yet of hair on the face. Kiran, after 
getting him to drink some milk asked him all about 
himself. 

He told her that his name was Nilkanta, and that 
he belonged to a theatrical troupe. They were 
coming to play in a neighbouring villa when the boat 
had suddenly foundered in the storm. He had no 
idea what had become of his companions. He was 
a good swimmer and had just managed to reach the 
shore. 

The boy stayed with them. His narrow escape 
from a terrible death made Kiran take a warm in- 
terest in him. Sharat thought the boy’s appear- 
ance at this moment rather a good thing, as his wife 
would now have something to amuse her, and might 
be persuaded to stay on for some time longer. Her 
mother-in-law, too, was pleased at the prospect of 
profiting their Brahmin guest by her kindness. And 
Nilkanta himself was delighted at his double escape 
from his master and from the other world, as well 
as at finding a home in this wealthy family. 

But in a short while Sharat and his mother 


THE CASTAWAY 


i33 


changed their opinion, and longed for his departure. 
The boy found a secret pleasure in smoking Sharat’s 
hookahs; he would calmly go off in pouring rain 
with Sharat’s best silk umbrella for a stroll through 
the village, and make friends with all whom he met. 
Moreover, he had got hold of a mongrel village 
dog which he petted so recklessly that it came indoors 
with muddy paws, and left tokens of its visit on 
Sharat’s spotless bed. Then he gathered about him 
a devoted band of boys of all sorts and sizes, and 
the result was that not a solitary mango in the 
neighbourhood had a chance of ripening that season. 

There is no doubt that Kiran had a hand in spoil- 
ing the boy. Sharat often warned her about it, but 
she would not listen to him. She made a dandy 
of him with Sharat’s cast-off clothes, and gave him 
new ones also. And because she felt drawn towards 
him, and had a curiosity to know more about him, 
she was constantly calling him to her own room. 
After her bath and midday meal Kiran would be 
seated on the bedstead with her betel-leaf box by 
her side; and while her maid combed and dried her 
hair, Nilkanta would stand in front and recite pieces 
out of his repertory with appropriate gesture and 
song, his elf-locks waving wildly. Thus the long 
afternoon hours passed merrily away. Kiran would 
often try to persuade Sharat to sit with her as one 


134 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


of the audience, but Sharat, who had taken a cordial 
dislike to the boy, refused; nor could Nilkanta do 
his part half so well when Sharat was there. His 
mother would sometimes be lured by the hope of 
hearing sacred names in the recitation; but love of 
her mid-day sleep speedily overcame devotion, and 
she lay lapped in dreams. 

The boy often got his ears boxed and pulled by 
Sharat, but as this was nothing to what he had been 
used to as a member of the troupe, he did not mind 
it in the least. In his short experience of the world 
he had come to the conclusion that, as the earth 
consisted of land and water, so human life was made 
up of eatings and beatings, and that the beatings 
largely predominated. 

It was hard to tell Nilkanta’s age. If it was 
about fourteen or fifteen, then his face was too old 
for his years; if seventeen or eighteen, then it was 
too young. He was either a man too early or a boy 
too late. The fact was that, joining the theatrical 
band when very young, he had played the parts of 
Radhika, Damayanti, and Sita, and a thoughtful 
Providence so arranged things that he grew to the 
exact stature that his manager required, and then 
growth ceased. 

Since every one saw how small Nilkanta was, and 


THE CASTAWAY 


i35 


he himself felt small, he did not receive due respect 
for his years. Causes, natural and artificial, com- 
bined to make him sometimes seem immature for 
seventeen years, and at other times a mere lad of 
fourteen but far too knowing even for seventeen. 
And as no sign of hair appeared on his face, the con- 
fusion became greater. Either because he smoked 
or because he used language beyond his years, his 
lips puckered into lines that showed him to be old 
and hard; but innocence and youth shone in his large 
eyes. I fancy that his heart remained young, but 
the hot glare of publicity had been a forcing-house 
that ripened untimely his outward aspect. 

In the quiet shelter of Sharat’s house and garden 
at Chandernagore, Nature had leisure to work her 
way unimpeded. Nilkanta had lingered in a kind 
of unnatural youth, but now he silently and swiftly 
overpassed that stage. His seventeen or eighteen 
years came to adequate revelation. No one ob- 
served the change, and its first sign was this, that 
when Kiran treated him like a boy, he felt ashamed. 
When the gay Kiran one day proposed that he 
should play the part of lady’s companion, the idea 
of woman’s dress hurt him, though he could not 
say why. So now, when she called for him to act 
over again his old characters, he disappeared. 


136 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

It never occurred to Nilkanta that he was even 
now not much more than a lad-of-all-work in a stroll- 
ing company. He even made up his mind to pick 
up a little education from Sharat’s factor. But, be- 
cause he was the pet of his master’s wife, the factor 
could not endure the sight of him. Also, his rest- 
less training made it impossible for him to keep his 
mind long engaged; sooner or later, the alphabet 
did a misty dance before his eyes. He would sit 
long enough with an open book on his lap, leaning 
against a champak bush beside the Ganges. The 
waves sighed below, boats floated past, birds flitted 
and twittered restlessly above. What thoughts 
passed through his mind as he looked down on that 
book he alone knew, if indeed he did know. He 
never advanced from one word to another, but the 
glorious thought, that he was actually reading a 
book, filled his soul with exultation. Whenever a 
boat went by, he lifted his book, and pretended to 
be reading hard, shouting at the top of his voice. 
But his energy dropped as soon as the audience was 
gone. 

Formerly he sang his songs automatically, but now 
their tunes stirred in his mind. Their words were 
of little import and full of trifling alliteration. 
Even the feeble meaning they had was beyond his 
comprehension; yet when he sang — 


THE CASTAWAY 


i37 


Twice-born bird, ah! wherefore stirred 
To wrong our royal lady? 

Goose, ah, say why wilt thou slay 
Her in forest shady? 

then he felt as if transported to another world and 
to fear other folk. This familiar earth and his own 
poor life became music, and he was transformed. 
That tale of the goose and the king’s daughter 
flung upon the mirror of his mind a picture of sur- 
passing beauty. It is impossible to say what he 
imagined himself to be, but the destitute little slave 
of the theatrical troupe faded from his memory. 

When with evening the child of want lies down, 
dirty and hungry, in his squalid home, and hears 
of prince and princess and fabled gold, then in the 
dark hovel with its dim flickering candle, his mind 
springs free from its bonds of poverty and misery 
and walks in fresh beauty and glowing raiment, 
strong beyond all fear of hindrance, through that 
fairy realm where all is possible. 

Even so, this drudge of wandering players 
fashioned himself and his world anew, as he moved 
in spirit amid his songs. The lapping water, 
rustling leaves, and calling birds; the goddess who 
had given shelter to him, the helpless, the God- 
forsaken; her gracious, lovely face, her exquisite arms 
with their shining bangles, her rosy feet as soft as 


138 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

flower-petals; all these by some magic became one 
with the music of his song. When the singing 
ended, the mirage faded, and the Nilkanta of the 
stage appeared again, with his wild elf-locks. 
Fresh from the complaints of his neighbour, the 
owner of the despoiled mango-orchard, Sharat 
would come and box his ears and cuff him. The 
boy Nilkanta, the misleader of adoring youths, went 
forth once more, to make ever new mischief by land 
and water and in the branches that are above the 
earth. 

Shortly after the advent of Nilkanta, Sharat’s 
younger brother, Satish, came to spend his college 
vacation with them. Kiran was hugely pleased at 
finding a fresh occupation. She and Satish were 
of the same age, and the time passed pleasantly in 
games and quarrels and reconciliations and laughter 
and even tears. Suddenly she would clasp him over 
the eyes from behind with vermilion-stained hands, 
or she would write “ monkey ” on his back, or else 
she would bolt the door on him from the outside 
amidst peals of laughter. Satish in his turn did not 
take things lying down; he would steal her keys 
and rings; he would put pepper among her betel, 
he would tie her to the bed when she was not look- 
ing. 

Meanwhile, heaven only knows what possessed 


THE CASTAWAY 


i39 


poor Nilkanta. He was suddenly filled with a 
bitterness which he must avenge on somebody or 
something. He thrashed his devoted boy-followers 
for no fault, and sent them away crying. He would 
kick his pet mongrel till it made the skies resound 
with its whinings. When he went out for a walk, 
he would litter his path with twigs and leaves beaten 
from the roadside shrubs with his cane. 

Kiran liked to see people enjoying good fare. 
Nilkanta had an immense capacity for eating, and 
never refused a good thing however often it was 
offered. So Kiran liked to send for him to have 
his meals in her presence, and ply him with delicacies, 
happy in the bliss of seeing this Brahmin boy eat to 
satiety. After Satish’s arrival she had much less 
spare time on her hands, and was seldom present 
when Nilkanta’s meals were served. Before, her 
absence made no difference to the boy’s appetite, 
and he would not rise till he had drained his cup 
of milk and rinsed it thoroughly with water. 

But now, if Kiran was not present to ask him 
to try this and that, he was miserable, and nothing 
tasted right. He would get up, without eating 
much, and say to the serving-maid in a choking voice : 
“ I am not hungry.” He thought in imagination 
that the news of his repeated refusal, “ I am not 
hungry,” would reach Kiran; he pictured her con- 


140 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

cern, and hoped that she would send for him, and 
press him to eat. But nothing of the sort happened. 
Kiran never knew and never sent for him; and the 
maid finished whatever he left. He would then put 
out the lamp in his room, and throw himself on his 
bed in the darkness, burying his head in the pillow 
in a paroxysm of sobs. What was his grievance? 
Against whom? And from whom did he expect 
redress? At last, when no one else came, Mother 
Sleep soothed with her soft caresses the wounded 
heart of the motherless lad. 

Nilkanta came to the unshakable conviction that 
Satish was poisoning Kiran’s mind against him. 
If Kiran was absent-minded, and had not her usual 
smile, he would jump to the conclusion that some 
trick of Satish had made her angry with him. He 
took to praying to the gods, with all the fervour of 
his hate, to make him at the next rebirth Satish, and 
Satish him. He had an idea that a Brahmin’s wrath 
could never be in vain; and the more he tried to 
consume Satish with the fire of his curses, the more 
did his own heart burn within him. And upstairs 
he would hear Satish laughing and joking with his 
sister-in-law. 

Nilkanta never dared openly to show his enmity 
to Satish. But he would contrive a hundred petty 
ways of causing him annoyance. When Satish went 


THE CASTAWAY 


141 

for a swim in the river, and left his soap on the 
steps of the bathing-place, on coming back for it he 
would find that it had disappeared. Once he found 
his favourite striped tunic floating past him on the 
water, and thought it had been blown away by the 
wind. 

One day Kiran, desiring to entertain Satish, sent 
for Nilkanta to recite as usual, but he stood there 
in gloomy silence. Quite surprised, Kiran asked 
him what was the matter. But he remained silent. 
And when again pressed by her to repeat some par- 
ticular favourite piece of hers, he answered: “ I 
don’t remember,” and walked away. 

At last the time came for their return home. 
Everybody was busy packing up. Satish was going 
with them. But to Nilkanta nobody said a word. 
The question whether he was to go or not seemed 
to have occurred to nobody. 

The subject, as a matter of fact, had been raised 
by Kiran, who had proposed to take him along with 
them. But her husband and his mother and 
brother had all objected so strenuously that she let 
the matter drop. A couple of days before they were 
to start, she sent for the boy, and with kind words 
advised him to go back to his own home. 

So many days had he felt neglected that this touch 
of kindness was too much for him; he burst into 


142 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


tears. Kiran’s eyes were also brimming over. She. 
was filled with remorse at the thought that she had 
created a tie of affection, which could not be per- 
manent. 

But Satish was much annoyed at the blubbering 
of this overgrown boy. “ Why does the fool stand 
there howling instead of speaking?” said he. 
When Kiran scolded him for an unfeeling creature, 
he replied: “ My dear sister, you do not under- 
stand. You are too good and trustful. This fellow 
turns up from the Lord knows where, and is treated 
like a king. Naturally the tiger has no wish to be- 
come a mouse again. And he has evidently dis- 
covered that there is nothing like a tear or two 
to soften your heart.” 

Nilkanta hurriedly left the spot. He felt he 
would like to be a knife to cut Satish to pieces; a 
needle to pierce him through and through; a fire to 
burn him to ashes. But Satish was not even scared. 
It was only his own heart that bled and bled. 

Satish had brought with him from Calcutta a 
grand inkstand. The inkpot was set in a mother-of- 
pearl boat drawn by a German-silver goose sup- 
porting a penholder. It was a great favourite of 
his, and he cleaned it carefully every day with an old 
silk handkerchief. Kiran would laugh, and tapping 
the silver bird’s beak would say — 


THE CASTAWAY 


i43 


Twice-born bird, ah! wherefore stirred 
To wrong our royal lady? 

and the usual war of words would break out between 
her and her brother-in-law. 

The day before they were to start, the inkstand 
was missing and could nowhere be found. Kiran 
smiled, and said: “ Brother-in-law, your goose 
has flown off to look for your Damayanti.” 

But Satish was in a great rage. . He was certain 
that Nilkanta had stolen it — for several people said 
they had seen him prowling about the room the night 
before. He had the accused brought before him. 
Kiran also was there. “ You have stolen my ink- 
stand, you thief! ” he blurted out. “ Bring it back 
at once.” Nilkanta had always taken punishment 
from Sharat, deserved or undeserved, with perfect 
equanimity. But, when he was called a thief in 
Kiran’s presence, his eyes blazed with a fierce anger, 
his breast swelled, and his throat choked. If Satish 
had said another word, he would have flown at him 
like a wild cat and used his nails like claws. 

Kiran was greatly distressed at the scene, and 
taking the boy into another room said in her sweet, 
kind way: “ Nilu, if you really have taken that 
inkstand give it to me quietly, and I shall see that 
no one says another word to you about it.” Big 
tears coursed down the boy’s cheeks, till at last he 


144 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


hid his face in his hands, and wept bitterly. Kiran 
came back from the room and said: “I am sure 
Nilkanta has not taken the inkstand.” Sharat and 
Satish were equally positive that no other than Nil- 
kanta could have done it. 

But Kiran said determinedly: “Never.” 

Sharat wanted to cross-examine the boy, but his 
wife refused to allow it. 

Then Satish suggested that his room and box 
should be searched. And Kiran said: “If you 
dare do such a thing I will never forgive you. You 
shall not spy on the poor innocent boy.” And as 
she spoke, her wonderful eyes filled with tears. 
That settled the matter and effectually prevented 
any further molestation of Nilkanta. 

Kiran’s heart overflowed with pity at this at- 
tempted outrage on a homeless lad. She got two 
new suits of clothes and a pair of shoes, and with 
these and a banknote in her hand she quietly went 
into Nilkanta’s room in the evening. She intended 
to put these parting presents into his box as a sur- 
prise. The box itself had been her gift. 

From her bunch of keys she selected one that 
fitted and noiselessly opened the box. It was so 
jumbled up with odds and ends that the new clothes 
would not go in. So she thought she had better 
take everything out and pack the box for him. At 


THE CASTAWAY 


i45 


first knives, tops, kite-flying reels, bamboo twigs, 
polished shells for peeling green mangoes, bottoms 
of broken tumblers and such like things dear to a 
boy’s heart were discovered. Then there came a 
layer of linen, clean and otherwise. And from 
under the linen there emerged the missing inkstand, 
goose and all. 

Kiran, with flushed face, sat down helplessly with 
the inkstand in her hand, puzzled and wondering. 

In the meantime, Nilkanta had come into the 
room from behind without Kiran knowing it. He 
had seen the whole thing and thought that Kiran 
had come like a thief to catch him in his thieving, — 
and that his deed was out. How could he ever hope 
to convince her that he was not a thief, and that only 
revenge had prompted him to take the inkstand, 
which he meant to throw into the river at the first 
chance? In a weak moment he had put it in the 
box instead. “ He was not a thief,” his heart cried 
out, “not a thief!” Then what was he? What 
could he say? That he had stolen, and yet he was 
not a thief? He could never explain to Kiran how 
grievously wrong she was. And then, how could he 
bear the thought that she had tried to spy on him? 

At last Kiran with a deep sigh replaced the ink- 
stand in the box, and, as if she were the thief her- 
self, covered it up with the linen ard the trinkets 


146 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


as they were before; and at the top she placed the 
presents, together with the banknote which she had 
brought for him. 

The next day the boy was nowhere to be found. 
The villagers had not seen him; the police could dis- 
cover no trace of him. Said Sharat: “ Now, as a 
matter of curiosity, let us have a look at his box.” 
But Kiran was obstinate in her refusal to allow that 
to be done. 

She had the box brought up to her own room; 
and taking out the inkstand alone, she threw it into 
the river. 

The whole family went home. In a day the 
garden became desolate. And only that starving 
mongrel of Nilkanta’s remained prowling along the 
river-bank, whining and whining as if its heart would 
break. 


WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

favourite. A certain number of words such as honour , 
colour , favour, ardour, fervour have come into English 
through the French from the Latin. There is a con- 
stant tendency to-day in modern English to leave out 
the letter “ u ” and spell color, favor, etc. But this 
movement has not yet gained much ground in England, 
wiseacres. This form originally comes from the Dutch. 
The ending “ acres ” is a corruption of the Dutch “ seg- 
gen ” which is the same as the English to say. The 
word is equivalent to “ wise-sayers.” 
deign. This is a word which comes through the French 


THE CASTAWAY 147 

from the Latin “ dignus,” meaning worthy. Compare 
indignant, dignitary, condign, indignity. 
troupe. An example of two words, with slightly different 
meanings, coming from one and the same French word. 
The French word is “ troupe,” meaning a company. 
This form is used in English for a company of players 
or actors. But the form “ troop ” is used chiefly of 
soldiers. 

automatically. This is a modern English word from the 
Greek “ autos,” meaning self. Compare autobiogra- 
phy, autonomy, autocracy. Modern English is draw- 
ing largely from the Greek language for its new words, 
alliteration. The Latin word for letter is “ littera.” 
From this we get many English words, e.g. letter, lit- 
erate, literal, literature, illiterate, obliterate, translit- 
erate, etc. 

mirage. From the Latin “ mirari,” to wonder. Compare 
mirror, miracle, admire. This is one of the words in 
English which keeps the old French accent on the last 
syllable — mirage. The tendency in English is always 
to throw the accent back as far as possible. Many 
words have changed their pronunciation in the course 
of time. Obdurate, in Milton’s time, was pronounced 
obdurate, but to-day it is pronounced obdurate. Tra- 
falgar was pronounced Trafalgar last century. Now 
we pronounce it Trafalgar. 




THE SON OF RASHMANI 


IX 

THE SON OF RASHMANI 


i 

Kalipada’s mother was Rashmani, but she had to 
do the duty of the father as well, because when both 
of the parents are “ mother ” then it is bad for the 
child. Bhavani, her husband, was wholly incapable 
of keeping his children under discipline. To know 
why he was bent on spoiling his son, you must hear 
something of the former history of the family. 

Bhavani was born in the famous house of 
Saniari. His father, Abhaya Charan, had a son, 
Shyama Charan, by his first wife. When he married 
again after her death he had himself passed the 
marriageable age, and his new father-in-law took 
advantage of the weakness of his position to have a 
special portion of his estate settled on his daughter. 
In this way he was satisfied that proper provision 
had been made, if his daughter should become a 
widow early in life. She would be independent of 
the charity of Shyama Charan. 

151 


152 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


The first part of his anticipation came true. For 
very soon after the birth of a son, whom she called 
Bhavani, Abhaya Charan died. It gave the father- 
in-law great peace and consolation, as he looked for- 
ward to his own death, to know that his daughter 
was properly looked after. 

Shyama Charan was quite grown up. In fact his 
own eldest boy was a year older than Bhavani. He 
brought up the latter with his own son. In doing 
this he never took a farthing from the property 
allotted to his step-mother, and every year he got a 
receipt from her after submitting detailed accounts. 
His honesty in this affair surprised the neighbour- 
hood. In fact they thought that such honesty was 
another name for foolishness. They did not like 
the idea of a division being made in the undivided 
ancestral property. If Shyama Charan in some 
underhand manner had been able to annul the dowry, 
his neighbours would have admired his sagacity; and 
there were good advisers ready to hand who could 
have rendered him material aid in the attainment of 
such an object. But Shyama Charan, in spite of the 
risk of crippling his patrimony, strictly set aside the 
dowry which came to the share of his step-mother; 
and the widow, Vraja Sundari, being naturally 
affectionate and trustful, had every confidence in 
Shyama Charan whom she trusted as her own son. 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


i53 


More than once she had chided him for being so 
particular about her portion of the property. She 
would tell him that, as she was not going to take her 
property with her when she died, and as it would in 
any case revert to the family, it was not necessary 
to be so very strict about rendering accounts. But 
he never listened to her. 

Shyama Charan was a severe disciplinarian by 
habit and his children were perfectly aware of the 
fact. But Bhavani had every possible freedom, and 
this gave rise to the impression that he was more 
partial to his step-brother than to his own sons. 
But Bhavani’s education was sadly neglected and he 
completely relied on Shyama Charan for the manage- 
ment of his share of the property. He merely had 
to sign documents occasionally without ever spend- 
ing a thought on their contents. On the other hand, 
Tarapada, the eldest son of Shyama Charan, was 
quite an expert in the management of the estate, 
having to act as an assistant to his father. 

After the death of Shyama Charan, Tarapada 
said to Bhavani, “ Uncle, we must not live together 
as we have done for so long, because some trifling 
misunderstanding may come at any moment and 
cause utter disruption.” 

Bhavani never imagined, even in his dream, that 
a day might come when he would have to manage 


154 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


his own affairs. The world in which he had been 
born and bred ever appeared to him complete and 
entire in itself. It was an incomprehensible calamity 
to him that there could be a dividing line somewhere 
and that this world of his could be split into two. 
When he found that Tarapada was immovable and 
indifferent to the grief and dishonour that such a 
step would bring to the family, he began to rack his 
brain to find out how the property could be divided 
with the least possible strain. 

Tarapada showed surprise at his uncle’s anxiety 
and said that there was no need to trouble about 
this, because the division had already been made in 
the life-time of his grandfather. Bhavani said in 
amazement, “ But I know nothing of this! ” Tara- 
pada said in answer, “ Then you must be the only 
one in the whole neighbourhood who does not. 
For, lest there should be ruinous litigation after he 
had gone, my grandfather had already given a por- 
tion of the property to your mother.” Bhavani 
thought this not unlikely and asked, “ What about 
the house?” Tarapada said, “If you wish, you 
can keep this house to yourself and we shall be con- 
tented with the other house in the district town.” 

As Bhavani had never been to this town-house, he 
had neither knowledge of it, nor affection for it. 
He was astounded at the magnanimity of Tarapada 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


155 


for so easily relinquishing his right to the house in 
the village where they had been brought up. But 
when Bhavani told everything to his mother, she 
struck her forehead with her hand and said: “ This 
is preposterous ! What I got from my husband was 
my own dowry and its income is very small. I do 
not see why you should be deprived of your share 
in your father’s property.” 

Bhavani said, “ Tarapada is quite positive that 
his grandfather never gave us any thing except this 
land.” 

Vraja Sundari was astonished and informed her 
son that her husband had made two copies of his 
will, one of which was still lying in her own box. 
The box was opened and it was found that there 
was only the deed of gift for the property belong- 
ing to the mother and nothing else. The copy of the 
will had been taken out. 

The help of advisers was sought. The man who 
came to their rescue was Bagala, the son of their 
family guru. It was the profession of the father 
to look after the spiritual needs of the village; the 
material side was left to the son. The two of them 
had divided between themselves the other world and 
this. Whatever might be the result for others, they 
themselves had nothing to suffer from this division. 
Bagala said that, even if the will was missing, the 


1 56 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


shares in the ancestral property must be equal, as 
between the brothers. 

Just at this time, a copy of a will made its appear- 
ance supporting the claims of the other side. In this 
document there was no mention of Bhavani and the 
whole property was given to the grandsons at the 
time when no son was born to Bhavani. With 
Bagala as his captain Bhavani set out on his voyage 
across the perilous sea of litigation. When his 
vessel at last reached harbour his funds were nearly 
exhausted and the ancestral property was in the 
hands of the other party. The land which was 
given to his mother had dwindled to such an extent, 
that it could barely give them shelter, or keep up the 
family dignity. Then Tarapada went away to the 
district town and they never met again. 

II 

Shyama Charan’s treachery pierced the heart of 
the widow like an assassin’s knife. To the end of 
her life, almost every day she would heave a sigh 
and say that God would never suffer such an in- 
justice to be done. She was quite firm in her faith 
when she said to Bhavani, “ I do not know your 
law or your law courts, but I am certain that my 
husband’s true will and testament will someday be 
recovered. You will find it again.” 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


i57 


Because Bhavani was helpless in worldly matters 
such assurances as these gave him great consola- 
tion. He settled down in his inactivity, certain in 
his own mind that his pious mother’s prophecy could 
never remain unfulfilled. After his mother’s death 
his faith became all the stronger, since the memory 
of her piety acquired greater radiance through death’s 
mystery. He felt quite unconcerned about the stress 
of their poverty which became more and more 
formidable as the years went by. The necessities of 
life and the maintenance of family traditions, — these 
seemed to him like play acting on a temporary stage, 
not real things. When his former expensive cloth- 
ing was outworn and he had to buy cheap materials 
in the shop, this amused him almost like a joke. 
He smiled and said to himself, — “ These people do 
not know that this is only a passing phase of my 
fortune. Their surprise will be all the greater, 
when some day I shall celebrate the Puja Festival 
with unwonted magnificence.” 

This certainty of future prodigality was so clear 
to his mind’s eye that present penury escaped his at- 
tention. His servant, Noto, was the principal com- 
panion with whom he had discussions about these 
things. They used to have animated conversations, 
in which sometimes his opinion differed from his 
master’s, as to the propriety of bringing down a 


158 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


theatrical troupe from Calcutta for these future 
occasions. Noto used to get reprimands from 
Bhavani for his natural miserliness in these items of 
future expenditure. 

While Bhavani’s one anxiety was about the 
absence of an heir, who could inherit his vast pos- 
sible wealth, a son was born to him. The horoscope 
plainly indicated that the lost property would come 
back to this boy. 

From the time of the birth of his son, Bhavani’s 
attitude was changed. It became cruelly difficult for 
him now to bear his poverty with his old amused 
equanimity, because he felt that he had a duty 
towards this new representative of the illustrious 
house of Saniari, who had such a glorious future be- 
fore him. That the traditional extravagance could 
not be maintained on the occasion of the birth of his 
child gave him the keenest sorrow. He felt as if 
he were cheating his own son. So he compensated 
his boy with an inordinate amount of spoiling. 

Bhavani’s wife, Rashmani, had a different temper- 
ament from her husband. She never felt any anxiety 
about the family traditions of the Chowdhuris of 
Saniari. Bhavani was quite aware of the fact and 
indulgently smiled to himself, as though nothing 
better could be expected from a woman who came 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


159 


from a Vaishnava family of very humble lineage. 
Rashmani frankly acknowledged that she could not 
share the family sentiments: what concerned her 
most was the welfare of her own child. 

There was hardly an acquaintance in the neigh- 
bourhood with whom Bhavani did not discuss the 
question of the lost will; but he never spoke a word 
about it to his wife. Once or twice he had tried, 
but her perfect unconcern had made him drop the 
subject. She neither paid attention to the past great- 
ness of the family, nor to its future glories, — she 
kept her mind busy with the actual necessities of the 
present, and those necessities were not small in 
number or quality. 

When the Goddess of Fortune deserts a house, she 
usually leaves some of her burdens behind, and this 
ancient family was still encumbered with its host of 
dependents, though its own shelter was nearly 
crumbling to dust. These parasites take it to be 
an insult if they are asked to do any service. They 
get head-aches at the least touch of the kitchen 
smoke. They are visited with sudden rheumatism 
the moment they are asked to run errands. There- 
fore all the responsibilities of maintaining the family 
were laid upon Rashmani herself. Women lose 
their delicacy of refinement, when they are compelled 


160 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

night and day to haggle with their destiny over things 
which are pitifully small, and for this they are 
blamed by those for whom they toil. 

Besides her household affairs Rashmani had to 
keep all the accounts of the little landed property 
which remained and also to make arrangements for 
collecting rents. Never before was the estate 
managed with such strictness. Bhavani had been 
quite incapable of collecting his dues: Rashmani 
never made any remission of the least fraction of 
rent'. The tenants, and even her own agents, reviled 
her behind her back for the meanness of the family 
from which she came. Even her husband occasion- 
ally used to enter his protest against the harsh 
economy which went against the grain of the world- 
famed house of Saniari. 

Rashmani quite ungrudgingly took the blame of all 
this upon herself and openly confessed the poverty 
of her parents. Tying the end of her sari tightly 
round her waist she went on with her household 
duties in her own vigorous fashion and made herself 
thoroughly disagreeable both to the inmates of the 
house and to her neighbours. But nobody ever had 
the courage to interfere. Only one thing she care- 
fully avoided. She never asked her husband to 
help her in any work and she was nervously afraid 
of his taking up any responsibilities. Indeed she was 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 161 

always furiously engaged in keeping her husband 
idle; and because he had received the best possible 
training in this direction she was wholly successful 
in her mission. 

Rashmani had attained middle age before her son 
came. Up to this time all the pent-up tenderness of 
the mother in her and all the love of the wife had 
their centre of devotion in this simple-hearted good- 
for-nothing husband. Bhavani was a child grown 
up by mistake beyond its natural age. This was 
the reason why, after the death of her husband’s 
mother, she had to assume the position of mother 
and mistress in one. 

In order to protect her husband from invasions of 
Bagala, the son of the guru, and other calamities, 
Rashmani adopted such a stern demeanour, that the 
companions of her husband used to be terribly afraid 
of her. She never had the opportunity, which a 
woman usually has, of keeping her fierceness hidden 
and of softening the keen edge of her words, — 
maintaining a dignified reserve towards men such as 
is proper for a woman. 

Bhavani meekly accepted his wife’s authority with 
regard to himself, but it became extremely hard 
for him to obey her when it related to Kalipada, 
his son. The reason was, that Rashmani never re- 
garded Bhavani’s son from the point of view of 


162 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Bhavani himself. In her heart she pitied her hus- 
band and said, “ Poor man, it was no fault of his, 
but his misfortune, to be born into a rich family.” 
That is why she never could expect her husband 
to be deprived of any comfort to which he had been 
accustomed. Whatever might be the condition of 
the household finance, she tried hard to keep him in 
his habitual ease and luxury. Under her regime all 
expense was strictly limited except in the case of 
Bhavani. She would never allow him to notice if 
some inevitable gap occurred in the preparation of 
his meals or his apparel. She would blame some 
imaginary dog for spoiling dishes that were never 
made and would blame herself for her carelessness. 
She would attack Noto for letting some fictitious 
article of dress be stolen or lost. This had the usual 
effect of rousing Bhavani’s sympathy on behalf of his 
favourite servant and he would take up his defence. 
Indeed it had often happened that Bhavani had con- 
fessed with bare-faced shamelessness that he had 
used the dress which had never been bought, and for 
whose loss Noto was blamed; but what happened 
afterwards, he had not the power to invent and was 
obliged to rely upon the fertile imagination of his 
wife who was also the accuser! 

Thus Rashmani treated her husband, but she 
never put her son in the same category. For he was 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 163 

her own child and why should he be allowed to give 
himself airs? Kalipada had to be content for his 
breakfast with a few handfuls of puffed rice and 
some treacle. During the cold weather he had to 
wrap his body as well as his head with a thick rough 
cotton chaddar. She would call his teacher before 
her and warn him never to spare her boy, if he was 
the least neglectful with his lessons. This treat- 
ment of his own son was the hardest blow that 
Bhavani Charan suffered since the days of his destitu- 
tion. But as he had always acknowledged defeat at 
the hands of the powerful, he had not the spirit to 
stand up against his wife in her method of dealing 
with the boy. 

The dress which Rashmani provided for her son, 
during the Puja festivities, was made of such poor 
material that in former days the very servants of 
the house would have rebelled if it had been offered 
to them. But Rashmani more than once tried her 
best to explain to her husband that Kalipada, being 
the most recent addition to the Chowdhuri family, 
had never known their former splendour and so was 
quite glad to get what was given to him. But this 
pathetic innocence of the boy about his own destiny 
hurt Bhavani more than anything else, and he could 
not forgive himself for deceiving the child. When 
Kalipada would dance for joy and rush to him to 


164 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


show him some present from his mother, which was 
ridiculously trivial, Bhavani’s heart would suffer 
torture. 

Bagala, the guru 1 s son, was now in an affluent con- 
dition owing to his agency in the law suit which had 
brought about the ruin of Bhavani. With the money 
which he had in hand he used to buy cheap tinsel 
wares from Calcutta before the Puja holidays. In- 
visible ink, — absurd combinations of stick, fishing- 
rod and umbrella, — letter-paper with pictures in the 
corner, — silk fabrics bought at auctions, and other 
things of this kind, attractive to the simple villagers, 
— these were his stock in trade. All the forward 
young men of the village vied with one another in 
rising above their rusticity by purchasing these 
sweepings of the Calcutta market which, they were 
told, were absolutely necessary for the city gentry. 

Once Bagala had bought a wonderful toy, — a doll 
in the form of a foreign woman, — which, when 
wound up, would rise from her chair and begin to 
fan herself with sudden alacrity. Kalipada was 
fascinated by it. He had a very good reason to 
avoid asking his mother about the toy; so he went 
straight to his father and begged him to purchase it 
for him. Bhavani answered “ yes ” at once, but 
when he heard the price his face fell. Rashmani 
kept all the money and he went to her as a timid 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 165 

beggar. He began with all sorts of irrelevant re- 
marks and then took a desperate plunge into the 
subject with startling incoherence. 

Rashmani briefly remarked: “Are you mad?” 
Bhavani Charan sat silent revolving in his mind what 
to say next. 

“ Look here,” he exclaimed, “ I don’t think I 
need milk pudding daily with my dinner.” 

“ Who told you? ” said Rashmani sharply. 

“ The doctor says it’s very bad for biliousness.” 

“ The doctor’s a fool! ” 

“ But I’m sure that rice agrees with me better than 
your luchis. They are too indigestible.” 

“ I’ve never seen the least sign of indigestion in 
you. You have been accustomed to them all your 
life! ” 

Bhavani Charan was ready enough to make 
sacrifices, but there his passage was barred. Butter 
might rise in price, but the number of his luchis never 
diminished. Milk was quite enough for him at his 
midday meal, but curds also had to be supplied be- 
cause that was the family tradition. Rashmani 
could not have borne seeing him sit down to his 
meal, if curds were not supplied. Therefore all his 
attempts to make a breach in his daily provisions, 
through which the fanning foreign woman might 
enter, were an utter failure. 


1 66 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Then Bhavani paid a visit to Bagala for no rea- 
son whatever, and after a great deal of round about 
talk asked concerning the foreign doll. Of course 
his straightened circumstances had long been known 
to Bagala, yet it was a perfect misery to Bhavani 
to have to hesitate to buy this doll for his son owing 
to want of ready money. Swallowing his pride, he 
brought out from under his arm an expensive old 
Kashmir shawl, and said in a husky voice: “ My 
circumstance are bad just at present and I haven’t 
got much cash. So I have determined to mortgage 
this shawl and buy that doll for Kalipada.” 

If the object offered had been less expensive than 
this Kashmir shawl, Bagala would at once have 
closed the bargain. But knowing that it would not 
be possible for him to take possession of this shawl 
in face of the village opinion, and still more in face 
of Rashmani’s watchfulness, he refused to accept it; 
and Bhavani had to go back home disappointed with 
the Kashmir shawl hidden under his arm. 

Kalipada asked every day for that foreign fanning 
toy, and Bhavani smiled every day and said, — 
“ Wait, a bit, my boy, till the seventh day of the 
moon comes round.” But every new day it became 
more and more difficult to keep up that smile. 

On the fourth day of the moon Bhavani made 
a sudden inroad upon his wife and said: 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


167 


“ I’ve noticed that there’s something wrong with 
Kalipada, — something the matter with his health.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Rashmani, “ he’s in the best of 
health.” 

“ Haven’t you noticed him sitting silent for hours 
together? ” 

“ I should be very greatly relieved if he could sit 
still for as many minutes.” 

When all his arrows had missed their mark, and 
no impression had been made, Bhavani Charan 
heaved a deep sigh and passing his fingers through 
his hair went away and sat down on the verandah 
and began to smoke with fearful assiduity. 

On the fifth day, at his morning meal, Bhavani 
passed by the curds and the milk pudding without 
touching them. In the evening he simply took one 
single piece of sandesh. The luchis were left un- 
heeded. He complained of want of appetite. 
This time a considerable breach was made in the 
fortifications. 

On the sixth day, Rashmani took Kalipada into 
the room and sweetly calling him by his pet name 
said, “ Betu, you are old enough to know that it is 
the halfway house to stealing to desire that which 
you can’t have.” 

Kalipada whimpered and said, “ What do I know 
about it? Father promised to give me that doll.” 


1 68 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Rashmani sat down to explain to him how much 
lay behind his father’s promise, — how much pain, 
how much affection, how much loss and privation. 
Rashmani had never in her life before talked thus 
to Kalipada, because it was her habit to give short 
and sharp commands. It filled the boy with amaze- 
ment when he found his mother coaxing him and 
explaining things at such a length, and mere child 
though he was, he could fathom something of the 
deep suffering of his mother’s heart. Yet at the 
same time it will be easily understood, that it 
was hard for this boy to turn his mind away alto- 
gether from that captivating foreign fanning woman. 
He pulled a long face and began to scratch the 
ground. 

This made Rashmani’s heart at once hard, and 
she said in her severe tone: “Yes, you may weep 
and cry, or become angry, but you shall never get 
that which is not for you to have.” And she 
hastened away without another word. 

Kalipada went out. Bhavani Charan was still 
smoking his hookah. Noticing Kalipada from a dis- 
tance he got up and walked in the opposite direction 
as if he had some urgent business. Kalipada ran to 
him and said, — “But that doll?” Bhavani could 
not raise a smile that day. He put his arm round 
Kalipada’s neck and said: 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


169 


“ Baba, wait a little. I have some pressing busi- 
ness to get through. Let me finish it first, and then 
we will talk about it.” Saying this, he went out of 
his house. 

Kalipada saw him brush a tear from his eyes. 
He stood at the door and watched his father, and 
it was quite evident, even to this boy, that he was 
going nowhere in particular, and that he was drag- 
ging the weight of a despair which could not be re- 
lieved. 

Kalipada at once went back to his mother and 
said: 

“ Mother, I don’t want that foreign doll.” 

That morning Bhavani Charan returned late. 
When he sat down to his meal, after his bath, it was 
quite evident, by the look on his face, that the curds 
and the milk pudding would fare no better with him 
than on the day before, and that the best part of 
the fish would go to the cat. 

Just at this critical juncture Rashmani brought in 
a card-board box, bound round with twine, and set 
it before her husband. Her intention had been to 
reveal the mystery of this packet to her husband 
when he went to take his nap after his meal. But in 
order to remove the undeserved neglect of the curds 
and the milk and the fish, she had to disclose its con- 
tents before the time. So the foreign doll came 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


170 

out of the box and without more ado began to fan 
itself vigorously. 

After this, the cat had to go away disappointed. 
Bhavani remarked to his wife that the cooking was 
the best he had ever tasted. The fish soup was in- 
comparable : the curds had set themselves with an 
exactness that was rarely attained, and the milk 
pudding was superb. 

On the seventh day of the moon, Kalipada got the 
toy for which he had been pining. During the whole 
of that day he allowed the foreigner to go on fanning 
herself and thereby made his boy companions jealous. 
In any other case this performance would have 
seemed to him monotonously tiresome, but know- 
ing that on the following day he would have to give 
the toy back, his constancy to it on that single occa- 
sion remained unabated. At the rental of two 
rupees per diem Rashmani had hired it from 
Bagala. 

On the eighth day of the moon, Kalipada heaved 
a deep sigh and returned the toy, along with the box 
and twine, to Bagala with his own hands. From 
that day forward Kalipada began to share the con- 
fidences of his mother, and it became so absurdly easy 
for Bhavani to give expensive presents every year, 
that it surprised even himself. 

When, with the help of his mother, Kalipada came 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


171 

to know that nothing in this world could be gained 
without paying for it with the inevitable price of 
suffering, he rapidly grew up in his mind and became 
a valued assistant to his mother in her daily tasks. 
It come to be a natural rule of life with him that 
no one should add to the burden of the world, but 
that each should try to lighten it. 

When Kalipada won a scholarship at the 
Vernacular examination, Bhavani proposed that he 
should give up his studies and take in hand the super- 
vision of the estate. Kalipada went to his mother 
and said, — “ I shall never be a man, if I do not 
complete my education.” 

The mother said, — “ You are right, Baba, you 
must go to Calcutta.” 

Kalipada explained to her that it would not be 
necessary to spend a single pice on him; his scholar- 
ship would be sufficient, and he would try to get some 
work to supplement it. 

But it was necessary to convince Bhavani of the 
wisdom of the course. Rashmani did not wish to 
employ the argument that there was very little of 
the estate remaining to require supervision; for she 
knew how it would hurt him. She said that Kali- 
pada must become a man whom everyone could 
respect. But all the members of the Chowdhuri 
family had attained their respectability without ever 


172 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


going a step outside the limits of Saniari. The 
outer world was as unknown to them as the world 
beyond the grave. Bhavani, therefore, could not 
conceive how anybody could think of a boy like Kali- 
pada going to Calcutta. But the cleverest man in 
the village, Bagala, fortunately agreed with Rash- 
mani. 

“ It is perfectly clear,” he said, “ that, one day, 
Kalipada will become a lawyer; and then he will set 
matters right concerning the property of which the 
family has been deprived.” 

This was a great consolation to Bhavani Charan 
and he brought out the file of records about the theft 
of the will and tried to explain the whole thing to 
Kalipada by dint of daily discussion. But his son 
was lacking in proper enthusiasm and merely echoed 
his father’s sentiment about this solemn wrong. 

The day before Kalipada’s departure for Calcutta 
Rashmani hung round his neck an amulet containing 
some mantras to protect him from evils. She gave 
him at the same time a fifty-rupee currency note, 
advising him to keep it for any special emergency. 
This note, which was the symbol of his mother’s 
numberless daily acts of self-denial, was the truest 
amulet of all for Kalipada. He determined to keep 
it by him and never to spend it, whatever might 
happen. 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


173 


hi 

From this time onward the old interminable dis- 
cussions about the theft of the will became less fre- 
quent on the part of Bhavani. His one topic of 
conversation was the marvellous adventure of Kali- 
pada in search of his education. Kalipada was 
actually engaged in his studies in the city of Cal- 
cutta ! Kalipada knew Calcutta as well as the palm 
of his hand! Kalipada had been the first to hear 
the great news that another bridge was going to be 
built over the Ganges near Hughli ! The day on 
which the father received his son’s letter, he would 
go to every house in the village to read it to his 
neighbours and he would hardly find time even to take 
his spectacles from his nose. On arriving at a 
fresh house he would remove them from their case 
with the utmost deliberation; then he would wipe 
them carefully with the end of his dhoti; then, word 
by word, he would slowly read the letter through to 
one neighbour after another, with something like the 
following comment: — 

“ Brother, just listen ! What is the world coming 
to? Evert the dogs and the jackals are to cross the 
holy Ganges without washing the dust from their 
feet! Who could imagine such a sacrilege? ” 

No doubt it was very deplorable; but all the same 


174 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


it gave Bhavani Charan a peculiar pleasure to com- 
municate at first hand such important news from his 
own son’s letter, and this more than compensated for 
the spiritual disaster which must surely overtake the 
numberless creatures of this present age. To every- 
one he met he solemnly nodded his head and pro- 
phesied that the days were soon coming when Mother 
Ganges would disappear altogether; all the while 
cherishing the hope that the news of such a momen- 
tous event would come to him by letter from his own 
son in the proper time. 

Kalipada, with very great difficulty, scraped 
together just enough money to pay his expenses till 
he passed his Matriculation and again won a 
scholarship. Bhavani at once made up his mind to 
invite all the village to a feast, for he imagined that 
his son’s good ship of fortune had now reached its 
haven and there would be no more occasion for 
economy. But he received no encouragement from 
Rashmani. 

Kalipada was fortunate enough to secure a place 
of study in a students’ lodging house near his college. 
The proprietor allowed him to occupy a small room 
on the ground floor which was absolutely useless 
for other lodgers. In exchange for this and his 
board, he had to coach the son of the owner of the 
house. The one great advantage was that there 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


i75 


would be no chance of any fellow lodger ever sharing 
his quarters. So, although ventilation was lacking, 
his studies were uninterrupted. 

Those of the students who paid their rent and 
lived in the upper story had no concern with Kali- 
pada; but soon it became painfully evident that those 
who are up above have the power to hurl missiles at 
those below with all the more deadly force because 
of their distance. The leader of those above was 
Sailen. 

Sailen was the scion of a rich family. It was 
unnecessary for him to live in a students’ mess, but 
he successfully convinced his guardians that this 
would be best for his studies. The real reason was 
that Sailen was naturally fond of company, and the 
students’ lodging house was an ideal place where he 
could have all the pleasure of companionship with- 
out any of its responsibilities. It was the firm con- 
viction of Sailen that he was a good fellow and a 
man of feeling. The advantage of harbouring such 
a conviction was that it needed no proof in practice. 
Vanity is not like a horse or an elephant requiring 
expensive fodder. 

Nevertheless, as Sailen had plenty of money he 
did not allow his vanity merely to graze at large; he 
took special pride in keeping it stall-fed. It must 
be said to his credit that he had a genuine desire 


i7 6 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


to help people in their need, but the desire in him 
was of such a character, that if a man in difficulty 
refused to come to him for help, he would turn 
round on him and do his best to add to his trouble. 
His mess mates had their tickets for the theatre 
bought for them by Sailen, and it cost them nothing 
to have occasional feasts. They could borrow 
money from him without meaning to pay it back. 
When a newly married youth*was in doubt about the 
choice of some gift for his wife, he could fully rely 
on Sailen’s good taste in the matter. On these occa- 
sions the love-lorn youth would take Sailen to the 
shop and pretend to select the cheapest and least 
suitable presents: then Sailen, with a contemptuous 
laugh would intervene and select the right thing. At 
the mention of the price the young husband would 
pull a long face, but Sailen would always be ready 
to abide by his own superior choice and to pay the 
cost. 

In this manner Sailen became the acknowledged 
patron of the students upstairs. It made him intol- 
erant of the insolence of any one who refused to 
accept his help. Indeed, to help others in this way 
had become his hobby. 

Kalipada, in his tattered jersey, used to sit on a 
dirty mat in his damp room below and recite his 
lessons, swinging himself from side to side to the 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


177 

rhythm of the sentence. It was a sheer necessity 
for him to get that scholarship next year. 

Kalipada’s mother had made him promise, before 
he left home for Calcutta that he would avoid the 
company of rich young men. Therefore he bore 
the burden of his indigence alone, strictly keeping 
himself from those who had been more favoured by 
fortune. But to Sailen, it seemed a sheer imper- 
tinence that a student as poor as Kalipada should yet 
have the pride to keep away from his patronage. 
Besides this, in his food and dress and everything, 
Kalipada’s poverty was so blatantly exposed, it 
hurt Sailen’s sense of decency. Every time he 
looked down into Kalipada’s room, he was offended 
by the sight of the cheap clothing, the dingy mosquito 
net and the tattered bedding. Whenever he passed 
on his way to his own room in the upper story the 
sight of these things was unavoidable. To crown 
it all there was that absurd amulet which Kalipada 
always had hanging round his neck, and those daily 
rites of devotion which were so ridiculously out of 
fashion ! 

One day Sailen and his followers condescended to 
invite Kalipada to a feast, thinking that his grati- 
tude would know no bounds. But Kalipada sent an 
answer saying that his habits were different and it 
would not be wholesome for him to accept the invi- 


i7« 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


tation. Sailen was unaccustomed to such a refusal, 
and it roused up in him all the ferocity of his insulted 
benevolence. For some days after this, the noise on 
the upper story became so loudly insistent that it 
was impossible for Kalipada to go on with his 
studies. He was compelled to spend the greater 
part of his days studying in the Park, and to get up 
very early and sit down to his work long before it 
was light. 

Owing to his half-starved condition, his mental 
overwork, and badly-ventilated room, Kalipada 
began to suffer from continual attacks of headache. 
There were times when he was obliged to lie down 
on his bed for three or four days together. But 
he made no mention of his illness in his letters to his 
father. Bhavani himself was certain that, just as 
vegetation grew rank in his village surroundings, so 
comforts of all kinds sprang up of themselves from 
the soil of Calcutta. Kalipada never for a moment 
disabused his mind of that misconception. He did 
not fail to write to his father, even when suffering 
from one of these paroxysms of pain. The deliber- 
ate rowdiness of the students in the upper story 
added at such times to his distress. 

Kalipada tried to make himself as scarce and small 
as possible, in order to avoid notice; but this did not 
bring him relief. One day, he found that a cheap 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


179 


shoe of his own had been taken away and replaced 
by an expensive foreign one. It was impossible for 
him to go to college with such an incongruous pair. 
He made no complaint, however, but bought some 
old second-hand shoes from the cobbler. One day, 
a student from the upper story came into his room 
and asked him: 

“ Have you, by any mistake, brought away my 
silver cigarette case with you?” 

Kalipada got annoyed and answered: 

“ I have never been inside your room in my life.” 

The student stooped down. “ Hullo ! ” he said, 
“ here it is ! ” And the valuable cigarette case was 
picked up from the corner of the room. 

Kalipada determined to leave this lodging house 
as soon as ever he had passed his Intermediate Exam- 
ination, provided only he could get a scholarship to 
enable him to do so. 

Every year the students of the house used to have 
their annual Saraswati Puja. Though the greater 
part of the expenses fell to the share of Sailen, every 
one else contributed according to his means. The 
year before, they had contemptuously left out Kali- 
pada from the list of contributors; but this year, 
merely to tease him, they came with their subscrip- 
tion book. Kalipada instantly paid five rupees to 
the fund, though he had no intention of participating 


180 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

in the feast. His penury had long brought on him 
the contempt of his fellow lodgers, but this unex- 
pected gift of five rupees became to them insufferable. 
The Saraswati Puja was performed with great eclat 
and the five rupees could easily have been spared. 
It had been hard indeed for Kalipada to part with 
it. While he took the food given him in his land- 
lord’s house he had no control over the time at which 
it was served. Besides this, since the servants 
brought him the food, he did not like to criticise the 
dishes. He preferred to provide himself with some 
extra things; and after the forced extravagance of 
his five-rupee subscription he had to forgo all this 
and suffered in consequence. His paroxysms of 
headache became more frequent, and though he 
passed his examination, he failed to obtain the schol- 
arship that he desired. 

The loss of the scholarship drove Kalipada to do 
extra work as a private tutor and to stick to the 
same unhealthy room in the lodging house. The 
students overhead had hoped that they would be re- 
lieved of his presence. But punctually to the day the 
room was unlocked on the lower floor. Kalipada 
entered, clad in the same old dirty check Parsee coat. 
A coolie from Sealdah Station took down from his 
head a steel trunk and other miscellaneous packages 
and laid them on the floor of the room; and a long 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 181 

wrangle ensued as to the proper amount of pice that 
were due. 

In the depths of those packages there were mango 
chutnies and other condiments which his mother had 
specially prepared. Kalipada was aware that, in his 
absence, the upper-story students, in search of a jest, 
did not scruple to come into his room by stealth. 

He was especially anxious to keep these home gifts 
from their cruel scrutiny. As tokens of home affec- 
tion they were supremely precious to him; but to the 
town students, they denoted merely the boorishness 
of poverty-stricken villagers. The vessels were 
crude and earthen, fastened up by an earthen lid 
fixed on with paste of flour. They were neither 
glass nor porcelain, and therefore sure to be regarded 
with insolent disdain by rich town-bred people. 

Formerly Kalipada used to keep these stores hid- 
den under his bed, covering them up with old news- 
papers. But this time he took the precaution of 
always locking up his door, even if he went out for 
a few minutes. This still further roused the spleen 
of Sailen and his party. It seemed to them prepos- 
terous that the room which was poor enough to draw 
tears from the eyes of the most hardened burglar 
should be as carefully guarded as if it were a second 
Bank of Bengal. 

“ Does he actually believe,” they said among them- 


182 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


selves, “ that the temptation will be irresistible for 
us to steal that Parsee coat? ” 

Sailen had never visited this dark and mildewed 
room from which the plaster was dropping. The 
glimpses that he had taken, while going up-stairs, — 
especially when, in the evening, Kalipada, the upper 
part of his body bare, would sit poring over his 
books with a smoky lamp beside him, — were 
enough to give him a sense of suffocation. Sailen 
asked his boon companions to explore the room 
below and find out the treasure which Kalipada had 
hidden. Everybody felt intensely amused at the 
proposal. 

The lock on Kalipada’s door was a cheap one, 
which had the magnanimity to lend itself to any key. 
One evening when Kalipada had gone out to his 
private tuition, two or three of the students with an 
exuberant sense of humour took a lantern and un- 
locked the room and entered. It did not need a 
moment to discover the pots of chutney under the 
bed, but these hardly seemed valuable enough to 
demand such watchful care on the part of Kalipada. 
A further search disclosed a key on a ring under the 
pillow. They opened the steel trunk with the key 
and found a few soiled clothes, books and writing 
material. They were about to shut the box in dis- 
gust when they saw, at the very bottom, a packet 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


183 


covered by a dirty handkerchief. On uncovering 
three or four wrappers they found a currency note 
of fifty rupees. This made them burst out into 
peals of laughter. They felt certain that Kalipada 
was harbouring suspicion against the whole world 
in his mind because of this fifty rupees ! 

The meanness of this suspicious precaution deep- 
ened the intensity of their contempt for Kalipada. 
Just then, they heard a foot-step outside. They 
hastily shut the box, locked the door, and ran upstairs 
with the note in their possession. 

Sailen was vastly amused. Though fifty rupees 
was a mere trifle, he could never have believed that 
Kalipada had so much money in his trunk. They 
all decided to watch the result of this loss upon that 
queer creature downstairs. 

When Kalipada came home that night after his 
tuition was over, he was too tired to notice any dis- 
order in his room. One of his worst attacks of 
nervous headache was coming on and he went 
straight to bed. 

The next day, when he brought out his trunk from 
under the bed and took out his clothes, he found it 
open. He was naturally careful, but it was not 
unlikely, he thought, that he had forgotten to lock 
it on the day before. But when he lifted the lid he 
found all the contents topsy-turvy, and his heart gave 


184 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


a great thud when he discovered that the note, given 
to him by his mother, was missing. He searched 
the box over and over again in the vain hope of 
finding it, and when his loss was made certain, he 
tlung himself upon his bed and lay like one dead. 

Just then, he heard footsteps following one an- 
other on the stairs, and every now and then an out- 
burst of laughter from the upper room. It struck 
him, all of a sudden, that this was not a theft: Sailen 
and his party must have taken the note to amuse 
themselves and make laughter out of it. It would 
have given him less pain if a thief had stolen it. It 
seemed to him that these young men had laid their 
impious hands upon his mother herself. 

This was the first time that Kalipada had ascended 
those stairs. He ran to the upper floor, — the old 
jersey on his shoulders, — his face flushed with anger 
and the pain of his illness. As it was Sunday, Sailen 
and his company were seated in the verandah, laugh- 
ing and talking. Without any warning, Kalipada 
burst upon them and shouted: 

“ Give me back my note ! ” 

If he had begged it of them, they would have 
relented; but the sight of his anger made them 
furious. They started up from their chairs and 
exclaimed : 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 185 

“ What do you mean, sir? What do you mean? 
What note? ” 

Kalipada shouted: “The note you have taken 
from my box ! ” 

“ How dare you? ” they shouted back. “ Do you 
take us to be thieves? ” 

If Kalipada had held any weapon in his hand at 
that moment he certainly would have killed some one 
among them. But when he was about to spring, 
they fell on hfm, and four or five of them dragged 
him down to his room and thrust him inside. 

Sailen said to his companions: “ Here, take this 
hundred-rupee note, and throw it to that dog ! ” 

They all loudly exclaimed: “No! Let him 
climb down first and give us a written apology. 
Then we shall consider it! ” 

Sailen’s party all went to bed at the proper time 
and slept the sleep of the innocent. In the morning 
they had almost forgotten Kalipada. But some of 
them, wdiile passing his room, heard the sound of talk- 
ing and they thought that possibly he was busy con- 
sulting some lawyer. The door was shut from the 
inside. They tried to overhear, but what they heard 
had nothing legal about it. It was quite incoherent. 

They informed Sailen. He came down and stood 
with his ear close to the door. The only thing that 


1 8 6 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


could be distinctly heard was the word ‘Father.’ 
This frightened Sailen. He thought that possibly 
Kalipada had gone mad on account of the grief of 
losing that fifty-rupee note. Sailen shouted “ Kali- 
pada Babu ! ” two or three times, but got no answer. 
Only that muttering sound continued. Sailen called, 
— “ Kalipada Babu, — please open the door. Your 
note has been found.” But still the door was not 
opened and that muttering sound went on. 

Sailen had never anticipated such a result as this. 
He did not express a word of repentance to his fol- 
lowers, but he felt the sting of it all the same. Some 
advised him to break open the door : others thought 
that the police should be called in, — for Kalipada 
might be in a dangerous state of lunacy. Sailen at 
once sent for a doctor who lived close at hand. 
When they burst open the door they found the 
bedding hanging from the bed and Kalipada lying 
on the floor unconscious. He was tossing about and 
throwing up his arms and muttering, with his eyes 
red and open and his face all flushed. The doctor 
examined him and asked if there were any relative 
near at hand; for the case was serious. 

Sailen answered that he knew nothing, but would 
make inquiries. The doctor then advised the re- 
moval of the patient at once to an upstairs room and 
proper nursing arrangements day and night. Sailen 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


187 


took him up to his own room and dismissed his fol- 
lowers. He got some ice and put it on Kalipada’s 
head and began to fan him with his own hand. 

Kalipada, fearing that mocking references would 
be made, had concealed the names and address of his 
parents from these people with special . care. So 
Sailen had no alternative but to open his box. He 
found two bundles of letters tied up with ribbon. 
One of them contained his mother’s letters, the other 
contained his father’s. His mother’s letters were 
fewer in number than his father’s. Sailen closed the 
door and began to read the letters. He was startled 
when he saw the address, — Saniari, the house of the 
Chowdhuries, — and then the name of the father, 
Bhavani. He folded up the letters and sat still, 
gazing at Kalipada’s face. Some of his friends had 
casually mentioned, that there was a resemblance 
between Kalipada and himself. But he was offended 
at the remark and did not believe it. To-day he 
discovered the truth. He knew that his own grand- 
father, Shyama Charan, had a step-brother named 
Bhavani; but the later history to the family had re- 
mained a secret to him. He did not even know that 
Bhavani had a son named Kalipada; and he never 
suspected that Bhavani had come to such an abject 
state of poverty as this. He now felt not only re- 
lieved, but proud of his own relative, Kalipada, that 


1 88 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

he had refused to enter himself on the list of pro- 
teges. 


IV 

Knowing that his party had insulted Kalipada al- 
most every day, Sailen felt reluctant to keep him in 
the lodging house with them. So he rented another 
suitable house and kept him there. Bhavani came 
down in haste to Calcutta the moment he received a 
letter from Sailen informing him of his son’s illness. 
Rashmani parted with all her savings giving instruc- 
tions to her husband to spare no expense upon her 
son. It was not considered proper for the daugh- 
ters of the great Chowdhuri family to leave their 
home and go to Calcutta unless absolutely obliged, 
and therefore she had to remain behind offering 
prayers to all the tutelary gods. When Bhavani 
Charan arrived he found Kalipada still unconscious 
and delirious. It nearly broke Bhavani’s heart 
when he heard himself called ‘ Master Mashai.’ 
Kalipada often called him in his delirium and he 
tried to make himself recognized by his son, but in 
vain. 

The doctor came again and said the fever was 
getting less. He thought the case was taking a more 
favourable turn. For Bhavani, it was an impossi- 
bility to imagine that his son would not recover. He 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


189 


must live : it was his destiny to live. Bhavani was 
much struck with the behaviour of Sailen. It was 
difficult to believe that he was not of their own kith 
and kin. He supposed all this kindness to be due to 
the town training which Sailen had received. Bha- 
vani spoke to Sailen disparagingly of the country 
habits which village people like himself got into. 

Gradually the fever went down and Kalipada re- 
covered consciousness. He was astonished beyond 
measure when he saw his father sitting in the room 
beside him. His first anxiety was lest he should 
discover the miserable state in which he had been 
living. But what would be harder still to bear was. 
if his father with his rustic manners became the butt 
of the people upstairs. He looked round him, but 
could not recognize his own room and wondered if 
he had been dreaming. But he found himself too 
weak to think. 

He supposed that it had been his father who had 
removed him to this better lodging, but he had no 
power to calculate how he could possibly bear the 
expense. The only thing that concerned him at that 
moment was that he felt he must live, and for that 
he had a claim upon the world. 

Once when his father was absent Sailen came in 
with a plate of grapes in his hand. Kalipada could 
not understand this at all and wondered if there was 


190 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


some practical joke behind it. He at once became 
excited and wondered how he could save his father 
from annoyance. Sailen set the plate down on the 
table and touched Kalipada’s feet humbly and said: 
“ My offence has been great: pray forgive me.” 

Kalipada started and sat up on his bed. He could 
see that Sailen’s repentance was sincere and he was 
greatly moved. 

When Kalipada had first come to the students’ 
lodging house he had felt strongly drawn towards 
this handsome youth. He never missed a chance of 
looking at his face when Sailen passed by his room 
on his way upstairs. He would have given all the 
world to be friends with him, but the barrier was 
too great to overcome. Now to-day when Sailen 
brought him the grapes and asked his forgiveness, 
he silently looked at his face and silently accepted 
the grapes which spoke of his repentance. 

It amused Kalipada greatly when he noticed the 
intimacy that had sprung up between his father and 
Sailen. Sailen used to call Bhavani Charan “ grand- 
father ” and exercised to the full the grandchild’s 
privilege of joking with him. The principal object 
of the jokes was the absent “ grandmother.” Sailen 
made the confession that he had taken the oppor- 
tunity of Kalipada’s illness to steal all the delicious 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


191 

chutnies which his “ grandmother ” had made with 
her own hand. The news of his act of “ thieving ” 
gave Kalipada very great joy. He found it easy 
to deprive himself, if he could find any one who could 
appreciate the good things made by his mother. 
Thus this time of his convalescence became the hap- 
piest period in the whole of Kalipada’s life. 

There was only one flaw in this unalloyed happi- 
ness. Kalipada had a fierce pride in his poverty 
which prevented him ever speaking about his family’s 
better days. Therefore when his father used to 
talk of his former prosperity Kalipada winced. 
Bhavani could not keep to himself the one great event 
of his life, — the theft of that will which he was 
absolutely certain that he would some day recover. 
Kalipada had always regarded this as a kind of 
mania of his father’s, and in collusion with his mother 
he had often humoured his father concerning this 
amiable weakness. But he shrank in shame when 
his father talked about this to Sailen. He noticed 
particularly that Sailen did not relish such conver- 
sation and that he often tried to prove, with a cer- 
tain amount of feeling, its absurdity. But Bhavani, 
who was ready to give in to others in matters much 
more serious, in this matter was adamant. Kalipada 
tried to pacify him by saying that there was no great 


192 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


need to worry about it, because those who were en- 
joying its benefit were almost the same as his own 
children, since they were his nephews. 

Such talk Sailen could not bear for long and he 
used to leave the room. This pained Kalipada, be- 
cause he thought that Sailen might get quite a wrong 
conception of his father and imagine him to be a 
grasping worldly old man. Sailen would have re- 
vealed his own relationship to Kalipada and his 
father long before, but this discussion about the theft 
of the will prevented him. It was hard for him to 
believe that his grandfather or father had stolen 
the will; on the other hand he could not but think 
that some cruel injustice had been done in depriving 
Bhavani of his share of the ancestral property. 
Therefore he gave up arguing when the subject was 
brought forward and took some occasion to leave 
as soon as possible. 

Though Kalipada still had headaches in the eve- 
ning, with a slight rise in temperature, he did not 
take it at all seriously. He became anxious to re- 
sume his studies because he felt it would be a calamity 
to him if he again missed his scholarship. He se- 
cretly began to read once more, without taking any 
notice of the strict orders of the doctor. Kalipada 
asked his father to return home, assuring him that 
he was in the best of health. Bhavani had been 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


i93 


all his life fed and nourished and cooked for by 
his wife; he was pining to get back. He did not 
therefore wait to be pressed. 

On the morning of his intended departure, when 
he went to say good-bye to Kalipada, he found him 
very ill indeed, his face red with fever and his whole 
body burning. He had been committing to memory 
page after page of his text book of Logic half 
through the night, and for the remainder he could 
not sleep at all. The doctor took Sailen aside. 
“ This relapse,” he said, “ is fatal.” Sailen came 
to Bhavani and said, “ The patient requires a 
mother’s nursing: she must be brought to Calcutta.” 

It was evening when Rashmani came, and she 
only saw her son alive for a few hours. Not know- 
ing how her husband could survive such a terrible 
shock she altogether suppressed her own sorrow. 
Her son was merged in her husband again, and she 
took up this burden of the dead and the living on 
her own aching heart. She said to her God, — “ It 
is too much for me to bear.” But she did bear it. 

V 

It was midnight. With the very weariness of 
her sorrow Rashmani had fallen asleep soon after 
reaching her own home in the village. But Bhavani 
had no sleep that night. Tossing on his bed for 


194 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


hours he heaved a deep sigh saying, — “ Merciful 
God ! ” Then he got up from his bed and went out. 
He entered the room where Kalipada had been wont 
to do his lessons in his childhood. The lamp shook 
as he held it in his hand. On the wooden settle 
there was still the torn, ink-stained quilt, made long 
ago by Rashmani herself. On the wall were figures 
of Euclid and Algebra drawn in charcoal. The re- 
mains of a Royal Reader No. Ill and a few exercise 
books were lying about; and the one odd slipper of 
his infancy, which had evaded notice so long, was 
keeping its place in the dusty obscurity of the corner 
of the room. To-day it had become so important 
that nothing in the world, however great, could 
keep it hidden any longer. Bhavani put the lamp 
in the niche on the wall and silently sat on the settle ; 
his eyes were dry, but he felt choked as if with want 
of breath. 

Bhavani opened the shutters on the eastern side 
and stood still, grasping the iron bars, gazing into 
the darkness. Through the drizzling rain he could 
see the outline of the clump of trees at the end of 
the outer wall. At this spot Kalipada had made 
his own garden. The passion flowers which he had 
planted with his own hand had grown densely thick. 
While he gazed at this Bhavani felt his heart come 
up into his throat with choking pain. There was 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


i95 


nobody now to wait for and expect daily. The sum- 
mer vacation had come, but no one would come back 
home to fill the vacant room and use its old familiar 
furniture. 

“ O Baba mine ! ” he cried, “ O Baba ! O Baba 
mine ! ” 

He sat down. The rain came faster. A sound 
of footsteps was heard among the grass and with- 
ered leaves. Bhavani’s heart stood still. He 
hoped it was . . . that which was beyond all 
hope. He thought it was Kalipada himself come 
to see his own garden, — and in this downpour of 
rain how wet he would be ! Anxiety about this made 
him restless. Then somebody stood for a moment 
in front of the iron window bars. The cloak round 
his head made it impossible for Bhavani to see his 
face clearly, but his height was the same as that of 
Kalipada. 

“ Darling! ” cried Bhavani, “ You have come! ” 
and he rushed to open the door. 

But when he came outside to the spot where the 
figure had stood, there was no one to be seen. He 
walked up and down in the garden through the 
drenching rain, but no one was there. He stood 
still for a moment raising his voice and calling, — 
“ Kalipada,” but no answer came. The servant, 
Noto, who was sleeping in the cowshed, heard his 


196 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


cry and came out and coaxed him back to his room. 

Next day, in the morning, Noto, while sweeping 
the room found a bundle just underneath the grated 
window. He brought it to Bhavani who opened it 
and found it was an old document. He put on his 
spectacles and after reading a few lines came rush- 
ing in to Rashmani and gave the paper into her hand. 
Rashmani asked, “ What is it? ” 

Bhavani replied, “ It is the will! ” 

“ Who gave it you? ” 

“ He himself came last night to give it to me.” 

“ What are you going to do with it? ” 

Bhavani said: “I have no need of it now.” 
And he tore the will to pieces. 

When the news reached the village Bagala proudly 
nodded his head and said: “Didn’t I prophesy 
that the will would be recovered through Kalipada ? ” 
But the grocer Ramcharan replied: “ Last night 
when the ten o’clock train reached the Station a 
handsome looking young man came to my shop and 
asked the way to the Chowdhuri’s house and I 
thought he had some kind of bundle in his hand.” 

“ Absurd,” said Bagala. 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

detailed. From the French “ tailler,” to cut. Compare 
tailor , entail , retail. 


THE SON OF RASHMANI 


197 


patrimony. From the Latin “pater,” a father. Compare 
paternal , patriarch , patriot. The ending -mony is from 
the Latin -monium. Compare testimony, matrimony, 
sanctimony . 

revert. From the Latin “ vertere,” to turn. Compare 
convert , subvert, divert, invert , advert, version, conver- 
sion, adverse. 

amazement. This word is of doubtful origin. We have 
the simpler form “ maze ” but do not know how it has 
come into English. 

preposterous. The Latin word “ pre ” means “ before,” 
and the Latin word “ posterns ” behind. The literal 
meaning, therefore, is “ before-behind ” and so “ ab- 
surd,” “ outrageous.” 

treachery. This comes from the Old French “ treacher,” 
to trick. It is to be distinguished from the word 
“ traitor,” which comes from the Latin “ traditor,” one 
who gives up another. Compare intricate, trickery, 
trick, intrigue. 

parasites. From the Greek word “ sitos,” food, — one who 
feeds on another. 

property. From the Latin “ proprius,” meaning “ one’s 
own.” Compare proper, appropriate , improper. 

haggle. This is an Old Norwegian word which has come 
into English, meaning literally to chop. 

good-for-nothing. Such “ phrase ” words as these are not 
very common in English. They are more common in 
French. Compare the English ne'er-do-well, lazy- 
bones, out-of-the-way, and the French coup-d’etat, nom- 
de-plume, fin-de-siecle. On the other hand, adjectives 
made up of two words are quite common in English. 
Compare simple-hearted, middle-aged. 

regime. This word still retains its French form and accent 
and pronunciation. Little by little such French words 
become pronounced and spelt in an English form and 
take a permanent place in the language. For instance, 


198 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


the French word “ morale ” with accent on the last 
syllable is now becoming a common English word. In 
time it will probably be accented on the first syllable 
like ordinary English words and will drop its final “ e.” 

gap. This is another Old Norwegian word meaning a 
wide opening. Compare gape. These Norwegian 
words came into English somewhat plentifully at the 
time of the Danish Conquest. 

sympathy. From the Greek “ syn ” with, and “ pathos ” 
suffering. It should be noted that the word “ compas- 
sion ” from the Latin “ cum ” with, and “ passio ” suf- 
fering, has the same root meaning, viz. “ suffering with 
another.” 

law-suit. The English word “ suit ” comes from the Latin 
“ sequi,” to follow, which in French becomes “ suivre.” 
We have two English forms, one form directly from 
the Latin, the other from the French. From the Latin 
prosecute, persecute, consecutive, execute. From the 
French pursue, ensue, sue . 

A “ suit ” in a game of cards means the cards that 
follow one another in a sequence. 

A “ suit ” of clothes means the trousers, coat, waist- 
coat, following the same pattern. Compare also the 
French word suite which has now been taken into Eng- 
lish, e.g. a suite of rooms, a suite of furniture (pro- 
nounced like “ sweet ”). 

incoherence. From the Latin “ haerere,” to stick. Com- 
pare adhere, cohere, inherent, coherence. 

foreign. From the Old French “ forain,” out of doors. 
The letter “ g ” has become wrongly inserted in this 
word as also in “ sovereign.” 

bargain. From the late Latin “ barca,” a boat, because 
trade was carried on by boats along the rivers. Com- 
pare barque, barge, bark. 

husky. From the noun husk, — as dry as a husk. 

shawl. From the Persian word “ shal.” A considerable 


THE SON OF RASFIMANI 


199 


number of words are coming into use in English now 
from the East. One of the most curious recent ones is 
Blighty which is a corruption of wilayati, bilaiti. For 
words introduced into English compare karma , sanyasi , 
fakir , brahmin , ghat , puggaree , pyjama , pucca , curry, 
chutney, chintz , cummerbund, khaki, rupee, durrie, tur- 
ban, sepoy. 

doll. This is a shortened form of the English girl’s name 
Dorothy, Dolly, Doll. Compare poll-parrot from 
Polly or Poll. 

soup. This word still retains its French form, without the 
final “e” (French soupe) , but the English words sup, 
supper have dropped their French spelling altogether. 

ticket. From the Old French “ estiquette,” meaning some- 
thing fixed like a bill on the wall. (Compare the Eng- 
lish word to “ stick ” which comes from the same root.) 

We have here a case of a French word branching off 
into two quite distinct English words, — “ etiquette ” 
and “ ticket,” each having its own meaning. 

jersey. One of the islands in the English Channel called 
Jersey first made this special form of woollen vest. 
Many English words are thus taken from the names of 
places. Compare currant (Corinth), argosy (Ragusa), 
calico (Calicut), bronze (Brundusium) , gipsy (Egyp- 
tian), cashmere (Kashmir). 

impertinence. Originally this word means that which is 
not “ pertinent,” and so something “ out-of -place.” 
Later on it got the present meaning of something inso- 
lent. 

mosquito. From the Spanish. The word is the diminutive 
of the Latin “ musca,” a fly. 

scruple. From the Latin “ scrupulus,” a small sharp stone. 
This word meant first in English a very small weight 
of twenty grains; then it came to mean a slight weight 
on the mind or conscience. In the Trial Scene of 
Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice we have the original 


200 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

sense used, — “ the twentieth part of one poor scruple.” 

exuberant. From the Latin “ uber,” udder. Thus it 
comes to mean “ flowing from the udder ” and so “ over- 
flowing.” 

handkerchief. “ Kerchief ” came from two French words 
“ couvre,” to cover, and “ chef,” the head. It meant a 
head cloth. Then a smaller cloth was used in the hand 
and this was called a hand-kerchief. 

lunacy. From the Latin “ luna,” the moon. In former 
times Europeans used to think that madness was due 
to some influence of the moon. Compare the word 
moonstruck . 

algebra. This is one of the many words from Arabic be- 
ginning with “ al,” the. Compare alkali , albatross , al- 
cohol, alembic, alchemy, alcove. 

Euclid. This word was originally the name of a great 
Greek mathematical writer. His writings were called 
“ Books of Euclid.” Now the subject is usually called 
Geometry. 

absurd. From the Latin “ surdus,” deaf. Deaf people 
generally appear stupid to those who can hear. So this 
word has come to mean foolish or ridiculous. 

topsy-turvy. This probably is a shortened form of top- 
side-turvy, — “ turvy ” being a colloquial corruption for 
“ turned ” or “ turned over.” 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 





X 

THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 


i 

Once upon a time the Babus at Nayanjore were 
famous landholders. They were noted for their 
princely extravagance. They would tear off the 
rough border of their Dacca muslin, because it 
rubbed against their delicate skin. They could spend 
many thousands of rupees over the wedding of a 
kitten. And on a certain grand occasion it is alleged 
that in order to turn night into day they lighted 
numberless lamps and showered silver threads from 
the sky to imitate sunlight. 

Those were the days before the flood. The flood 
came. The line of succession among these old-world 
Babus, with their lordly habits, could not continue 
for long. Like a lamp with too many wicks burning, 
the oil flared away quickly, and the light went out. 

Kailas Babu, our neighbour, is the last relic of 
this extinct magnificence. Before he grew up, his 
family had very nearly reached its lowest ebb. 
When his father died, there was one dazzling out- 
burst of funeral extravagance, and then insolvency. 


203 


204 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


The property was sold to liquidate the debt. What 
little ready money was left over was altogether in- 
sufficient to keep up the past ancestral splendours. 

Kailas Babu left Nayanjore and came to Calcutta. 
His son did not remain long in this world of faded 
glory. He died, leaving behind him an only daugh- 
ter. 

In Calcutta we are Kailas Babu’s neighbours. 
Curiously enough our own family history is just the 
opposite of his. My father got his money by his 
own exertions, and prided himself on never spend- 
ing a penny more than was needed. His clothes 
were those of a working man, and his hands also. 
He never had any inclination to earn the title of 
Babu by extravagant display; and I myself, his only 
son, owe him gratitude for that. He gave me the 
very best education, and I was able to make my way 
in the world. I am not ashamed of the fact that 
I am a self-made man. Crisp bank-notes in my safe 
are dearer to me than a long pedigree in an empty 
family chest. 

I believe this was why I disliked seeing Kailas 
Babu drawing his heavy cheques on the public credit 
from the bankrupt bank of his ancient Babu reputa- 
tion. I used to fancy that he looked down on me, 
because my father had earned money with his own 
hands. 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 205 

I ought to have noticed that no one showed any 
vexation towards Kailas Babu except myself. In- 
deed it would have been difficult to find an old man 
who did less harm than he. He was always ready 
with his kindly little acts of courtesy in times of 
sorrow and joy. He would join in all the cere- 
monies and religious observances of his neighbours. 
His familiar smile would greet young and old alike. 
His politeness in asking details about domestic 
affairs was untiring. The friends who met him in 
the street were perforce ready to be button-holed, 
while a long string of questions of this kind followed 
one another from his lips : 

“ My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Are 
you quite well? How is Shashi? And Dada — 
is he all right? Do you know, I’ve only just heard 
that Madhu’s son has got fever. How is he? 
Have you heard? And Hari Charan Babu — 1 
have not seen him for a long time — I hope he is 
not ill. What’s the matter with Rakkhal? And 
er — er, how are the ladies of your family? ” 

Kailas Babu was spotlessly neat in his dress on 
all occasions, though his supply of clothes was sorely 
limited. Every day he used to air his shirts and 
vests and coats and trousers carefully, and put them 
out in the sun, along with his bed-quilt, his pillow- 
case, and the small carpet on which he always sat. 


20 6 STORIES FROM TAGORE 

After airing them he would shake them, and brush 
them, and put them carefully away. His little bits 
of furniture made his small room decent, and hinted 
that there was more in reserve if needed. Very 
often, for want of a servant, he would shut up his 
house for a while. Then he would iron out his 
shirts and linen with his own hands, and do other 
little menial tasks. After this he would open his 
door and receive his friends again. 

Though Kailas Rabu, as I have said, had lost all 
his landed property, he had still some family heir- 
looms left. There was a silver cruet for sprinkling 
scented water, a filigree box for otto-of-roses, a small 
gold salver, a costly ancient shawl, and the old- 
fashioned ceremonial dress and ancestral turban. 
These he had rescued with the greatest difficulty 
from the money-lenders’ clutches. On every suit- 
able occasion he would bring them out in state, and 
thus try to save the world-famed dignity of the Rabus 
of Nayanjore. At heart the most modest of men, 
in his daily speech he regarded it as a sacred duty, 
owed to his rank, to give free play to his family 
pride. His friends would encourage this trait in 
his character with kindly good-humour, and it gave 
them great amusement. 

The neighbourhood soon learnt to call him their 
Thakur Dada. They would flock to his house and 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 207 

sit with him for hours together. To prevent his 
incurring any expense, one or other of his friends 
would bring him tobacco and say: “ Thakur Dada, 
this morning some tobacco was sent to me from Gaya. 
Do take it and see how you like it.” 

Thakur Dada would take it and say it was ex- 
cellent. He would then go on to tell of a certain 
exquisite tobacco which they once smoked in the 
old days of Nayanjore at the cost of a guinea an 
ounce. 

“ I wonder,” he used to say, “ if any one would 
like to try it now. I have some left, and can get 
it at once.” 

Every one knew that, if they asked for it, then 
somehow or other the key of the cupboard would 
be missing; or else Ganesh, his old family servant, 
had put it away somewhere. 

“ You never can be sure,” he would add, “ where 
things go to when servants are about. Now, this 
Ganesh of mine, — I can’t tell you what a fool he is, 
but I haven’t the heart to dismiss him.” 

Ganesh, for the credit of the family, was quite 
ready to bear all the blame without a word. 

One of the company usually said at this point: 
“ Never mind, Thakur Dada. Please don’t trouble 
to look for it. This tobacco we’re smoking will do 
quite well. The other would be too strong.” 


208 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Then Thakur Dada would be relieved and settle 
down again, and the talk would go on. 

When his guests got up to go away, Thakur Dada 
would accompany them to the door and say to them 
on the door-step: “ Oh, by the way, when are you 
all coming to dine with me?” 

One or other of us would answer: “Not just 
yet, Thakur Dada, not just yet. We’ll fix a day 
later.” 

“ Quite right,” he would answer. “ Quite right. 
We had much better wait till the rains come. It’s 
too hot now. And a grand rich dinner such as I 
should want to give you would upset us in weather 
like this.” 

But when the rains did come, every one was very 
careful not to remind him of his promise. If the 
subject was brought up, some friend would suggest 
gently that it was very inconvenient to get about 
when the rains were so severe, and therefore it would 
be much better to wait till they were over. Thus 
the game went on. 

Thakur Dada’s poor lodging was much too small 
for his position, and we used to condole with him 
about it. His friends would assure him they quite 
understood his difficulties : it was next to impossible 
to get a decent house in Calcutta. Indeed, they 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 209 

had all been looking out for years for a house to 
suit him. But, I need hardly add, no friend had 
been foolish enough to find one. Thakur Dada 
used to say, with a sigh of resignation: “Well, 
well, I suppose I shall have to put up with this house 
after all.” Then he would add with a genial smile: 
“ But, you know, I could never bear to be away from 
my friends. I must be near you. That really com- 
pensates for everything.” 

Somehow I felt all this very deeply indeed. I sup- 
pose the real reason was, that when a man is young, 
stupidity appears to him the worst of crimes. Kailas 
Babu was not really stupid. In ordinary business 
matters every one was ready to consult him. But 
with regard to Nayanjore his utterances were cer- 
tainly void of common sense. Because, out of 
amused affection for him, no one contradicted his 
impossible statements, he refused to keep them in 
bounds. When people recounted in his hearing the 
glorious history of Nayanjore with absurd exaggera- 
tions, he would accept all they said with the utmost 
gravity, and never doubted, even in his dreams, that 
any one could disbelieve it. 

II 

When I sit down and try to analyse the thoughts 


210 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


and feelings that I had towards Kailas Babu, I see 
that there was a still deeper reason for my dislike. 
I will now explain. 

Though I am the son of a rich man, and might 
have wasted time at college, my industry was such 
that I took my M.A. degree in Calcutta University 
when quite young. My moral character was flaw- 
less. In addition, my outward appearance was so 
handsome, that if I were to call myself beautiful, it 
might be thought a mark of self-estimation, but could 
not be considered an untruth. 

There could be no question that among the young 
men of Bengal I was regarded by parents generally 
as a very eligible match. I was myself quite clear 
on the point and had determined to obtain my full 
value in the marriage market. When I pictured my 
choice, I had before my mind’s eye a wealthy father’s 
only daughter, extremely beautiful and highly edu- 
cated. Proposals came pouring in to me from far 
and near; large sums in cash were offered. I 
weighed these offers with rigid impartiality in the 
delicate scales of my own estimation. But there 
was no one fit to be my partner. I became con- 
vinced, with the poet Bhabavuti, that, 

In this world’s endless time and boundless space 

One may be born at last to match my sovereign grace. 

But in this puny modern age, and this contracted 


2 I I 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 

space of modern Bengal, it was doubtful if the peer- 
less creature existed as yet. 

Meanwhile my praises were sung in many tunes, 
and in different metres, by designing parents. 

Whether I was pleased with their daughters or 
not, this worship which they offered was never un- 
pleasing. I used to regard it as my proper due, be- 
cause I was so good. We are told that when the 
gods withhold their boons from mortals they still 
expect their worshippers to pay them fervent honour 
and are angry if it is withheld. I had that divine 
expectance strongly developed in myself. 

I have already mentioned that Thakur Dada had 
an only grand-daughter. I had seen her many 
times, but had never mistaken her for beautiful. No 
thought had ever entered my mind that she would 
be a possible partner for myself. All the same, it 
seemed quite certain to me that some day or other 
Kailas Babu would offer her, with all due worship, 
as an oblation at my shrine. Indeed — this was 
the inner secret of my dislike — I was thoroughly 
annoyed that he had not done so already. 

I heard that Thakur Dada had told his friends 
that the Babus of Nayanjore never craved a boon. 
Even if the girl remained unmarried, he would not 
break the family tradition. It was this arrogance 
of his that made me angry. My indignation 


212 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


smouldered for some time. But I remained per- 
fectly silent and bore it with the utmost patience, be- 
cause I was so good. 

As lightning accompanies thunder, so in my char- 
acter a flash of humour was mingled with the mutter- 
ings of my wrath. It was, of course, impossible for 
me to punish the old man merely to give vent to 
my rage; and for a long time I did nothing at all. 
But suddenly one day such an amusing plan came 
into my head, that I could not resist the temptation 
of carrying it into effect. 

I have already said that many of Kailas Babu’s 
friends used to flatter the old man’s vanity to the 
full. One, who was a retired Government servant, 
had told him that whenever he saw the Chota Lat 
Sahib he always asked for the latest news about the 
Babus of Nayanjore, and the Chota Lat had been 
heard to say that in all Bengal the only really re- 
spectable families were those of the Maharaja of 
Cossipore and the Babus of Nayanjore. When this 
monstrous falsehood was told to Kailas Babu he was 
extremely gratified and often repeated the story. 
And wherever after that he met this Government 
servant in company he would ask, along with other 
questions : 

“ Oh ! er — by the way, how is the Chota Lat 
Sahib? Quite well, did you say? Ah, yes, I am 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 213 

so delighted to hear it! And the dear Mem Sahib, 
is she quite well too ? Ah, yes ! and the little children 
— are they quite well also? Ah, yes! that’s very 
good news ! Be sure and give them my compli- 
ments when you see them.” 

Kailas Babu would constantly express his intention 
of going some day and paying a visit to the Lord 
Sahib. But it may be taken for granted that many 
Chota Lats and Burra Lats also would come and go, 
and much water would pass down the Hoogly, before 
the family coach of Nayanjore would be furbished 
up to pay a visit to Government House. 

One day I took Kailas Babu aside and told him 
in a whisper: “ Thakur Dada, I was at the Levee 
yesterday, and the Chota Lat Sahib happened to 
mention the Babus of Nayanjore. I told him that 
Kailas Babu had come to town. Do you know, he 
was terribly hurt because you hadn’t called. He 
told me he was going to put etiquette on one side 
and pay you a private visit himself this very after- 
noon.” 

Anybody else could have seen through this plot of 
mine in a moment. And, if it had been directed 
against another person, Kailas Babu would have 
understood the joke. But after all that he had 
heard from his friend the Government servant, and 
after all his own exaggerations, a visit from the 


214 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


Lieutenant-Governor seemed the most natural thing 
in the world. He became highly nervous and ex- 
cited at my news. Each detail of the coming visit 
exercised him greatly, — most of all his own igno- 
rance of English. How on earth was that difficulty 
to be met? I told him there was no difficulty at 
all: it was aristocratic not to know English: and, 
besides, the Lieutenant-Governor always brought an 
interpreter with him, and he had expressly mentioned 
that this visit was to be private. 

About midday, when most of our neighbours are 
at work, and the rest are asleep, a carriage and 
pair stopped before the lodging of Kailas Babu. 
Two flunkeys in livery came up the stairs, and an- 
nounced in a loud voice, “ The Chota Lat Sahib has 
arrived ! ” Kailas Babu was ready, waiting for him, 
in his old-fashioned ceremonial robes and ancestral 
turban, and Ganesh was by his side, dressed in his 
master’s best suit of clothes for the occasion. 

When the Chota Lat Sahib was announced, Kailas 
Babu ran panting and puffing and trembling to the 
door, and led in a friend of mine, in disguise, with 
repeated salaams, bowing low at each step and walk- 
ing backward as best he could. He had his old 
family shawl spread over a hard wooden chair and 
he asked the Lat Sahib to be seated. He then made 
a high-flown speech in Urdu, the ancient Court 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 215 

language of the Sahibs, and presented on the golden 
salver a string of gold mohurs , the last relics of his 
broken fortune. The old family servant Ganesh, 
with an expression of awe bordering on terror, stood 
behind with the scent-sprinkler, drenching the Lat 
Sahib, and touched him gingerly from time to time 
with the otto-of-roses from the filigree box. 

Kailas Babu repeatedly expressed his regret at not 
being able to receive His Honour Bahadur with all 
the ancestral magnificence of his own family estate 
at Nayanjore. There he could have welcomed him 
properly with due ceremonial. But in Calcutta he 
was a mere stranger and sojourner, — in fact a fish 
out of water. 

My friend, with his tall silk hat on, very gravely 
nodded. I need hardly say that according to Eng- 
lish custom the hat ought to have been removed in- 
side the room. But my friend did not dare to take 
it off for fear of detection : and Kailas Babu and his 
old servant Ganesh were sublimely unconscious of 
the breach of etiquette. 

After a ten minutes’ interview, which consisted 
chiefly of nodding the head, my friend rose to his 
feet to depart. The two flunkeys in livery, as had 
been planned beforehand, carried off in state the 
string of gold mohurs, the gold salver, the old ances- 
tral shawl, the silver scent-sprinkler, and the otto-of- 


21 6 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


roses filigree box; they placed them ceremoniously in 
the carriage. Kailas Babu regarded this as the 
usual habit of Chota Lat Sahibs. 

I was watching all the while from the next room. 
My sides were aching with suppressed laughter. 
When I could hold myself in no longer, I rushed into 
a further room, suddenly to discover, in a corner, a 
young girl sobbing as if her heart would break. 
When she saw my uproarious laughter she stood 
upright in passion, flashing the lightning of her big 
dark eyes in mine, and said with a tear-choked voice : 
“ Tell me! What harm has my grandfather done 
to you? Why have you come to deceive him? 
Why have you come here? Why ” 

She could say no more. She covered her face 
with her hands and broke into sobs. 

My laughter vanished in a moment. It had never 
occurred to me that there was anything but a su- 
premely funny joke in this act of mine, and here I 
discovered that I had given the cruellest pain to this 
tenderest little heart. All the ugliness of my cruelty 
rose up to condemn me. I slunk out of the room in 
silence, like a kicked dog. 

Hitherto I had only looked upon Kusum, the 
grand-daughter of Kailas Babu, as a somewhat 
worthless commodity in the marriage market, wait- 
ing in vain to attract a husband. But now I found, 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 217 

with a shock of surprise, that in the corner of that 
room a human heart was beating. 

The whole night through I had very little sleep. 
My mind was in a tumult. On the next day, very 
early in the morning, I took all those stolen goods 
back to Kailas Babu’s lodgings, wishing to hand them 
over in secret to the servant Ganesh. I waited out- 
side the door, and, not finding any one, went upstairs 
to Kailas Babu’s room. I heard from the passage 
Kusum asking her grandfather in the most winning 
voice: “ Dada, dearest, do tell me all that the 
Chota Lat Sahib said to you yesterday. Don’t leave 
out a single word. I am dying to hear it all over 
again.” 

And Dada needed no encouragement. His face 
beamed over with pride as he related all manner of 
praises which the Lat Sahib had been good enough 
to utter concerning the ancient families of Nayan- 
jore. The girl was seated before him, looking up 
into his face, and listening with rapt attention. She 
was determined, out of love for the old man, to play 
her part to the full. 

My heart was deeply touched, and tears came to 
my eyes. I stood there in silence in the passage, 
while Thakur Dada finished all his embellishments of 
the Chota Lat Sahib’s wonderful visit. When he 
left the room at last, I took the stolen goods and 


2l8 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


laid them at the feet of the girl and came away with- 
out a word. 

Later in the day I called again to see Kailas Babu 
himself. According to our ugly modern custom, I 
had been in the habit of making no greeting at all 
to this old man when I came into the room. But 
on this day I made a low bow and touched his feet. 
I am convinced the old man thought that the coming 
of the Chota Lat Sahib to his house was the cause of 
my new politeness. He was highly gratified by it, 
and an air of benign serenity shone from his eyes. 
His friends had looked in, and he had already begun 
to tell again at full length the story of the Lieutenant- 
Governor’s visit with still further adornments of a 
most fantastic kind. The interview was already be- 
coming an epic, both in quality and in length. 

When the other visitors had taken their leave, I 
made my proposal to the old man in a humble man- 
ner. I told him that, “ though I could never for a 
moment hope to be worthy of marriage connec- 
tion with such an illustrious family, yet . . . etc. 
etc.” 

When I made clear my proposal of marriage, the 
old man embraced me and broke out in a tumult of 
joy: “ I am a poor man, and could never have ex- 
pected such great good fortune.” 

That was the first and last time in his life that 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 219 

Kailas Babu confessed to being poor. It was also 
the first and last time in his life that he forgot, if 
only for a single moment, the ancestral dignity that 
belongs to the Babus of Nayanjore. 

WORDS TO BE STUDIED 

landholder. This method of forming compound words 
from two original English words should be studied. 
Compare the following words which have “ land ” for 
one of their parts: landlord , landowner , landlady, land- 
slip, landfall. When the second word is not very 
closely attached to the first word, a hyphen is put be- 
tween, thus land-grabber, land-shark. 
extinct. From the Latin “ stinguere,” to quench. Com- 
pare distinct , instinct, extinguish, distinguish. 
cheque. This word is the same as “ check,” — only in this 
case the original French form has been kept. The 
verb to “ check ” came into English originally from the 
game of chess. In Eastern lands when the chess king 
was in danger the word “ Shah ! ” was called out, and 
when the chess king could not move, “ Shah mata ! ” 
These were corrupted into “Check!” and “Check- 
mate ! ” 

bankrupt. This word is a curious mixture of the old 
French “ banque ” (compare bench, banquet ) and the 
Latin “ rumpere,” to break (compare corrupt, disrupt). 
It is thus a hybrid word in modern English, 
filigree. From two Latin words, “ filum,” a thread, and 
“ granum,” a grain. 

otto-of-roses. A corruption of attar. The word is orig- 
inally Arabic and Persian. 

turban. This word has now taken its place in most of the 
European languages. It has come to Europe from the 
Turkish “ tulbend ” and the Persian “ dulband.” 


220 


STORIES FROM TAGORE 


tobacco. This word came originally from Central Amer- 
ica. It was brought to Europe by the Spaniards, who 
pronounced it “ tabaco.” It has now travelled all 
round the world, and has gained a place in all the 
Indian vernaculars as well as in the Further East, 
boon. The Old English word “ ben ” meant a prayer, and 
this was the original meaning of “ boon.” But a new 
word appeared in English, viz. the adjective “ boon ” 
from the French “bon,” meaning “good.” (Compare 
boon companion). This influenced the earlier word, 
which thus gained its present meaning of a “ blessing ” 
or “ gift.” 

smoulder. “ Smolder ” is an Old English word meaning 
“ smoke.” Cognate words in English are smother and 
small, which come from the same root, 
gingerly. The origin of this word is very doubtful. Some 
connect it with “ ging ” or “ gang,” meaning “ to go.” 
Others with “ gent-” meaning “ gentle ” or “ graceful.” 
The word has no relation to “ ginger ” which is an 
Eastern word coming originally from the Sanskrit 
qraga-vera and the Hindustani ziinjubil. 
fantastic. From the Greek “ phaino,” to manifest. Com- 
pare emphasis, emphatic, fantasy, fancy, phenomenon. 


NOTES 


NOTES 


I.— THE CABULIWALLAH 

“ The Cabuliwallah ” is one of the most famous of the 
Poet’s “ Short Stories.” It has been often translated. The 
present translation is by the late Sister Nivedita, and her 
simple, vivid style should be noticed by the Indian student 
reader. It is a good example of modern English, with its 
short sentences, its careful choice of words, and its luminous 
clearness of meaning. 

Cabuliwallah.] A man from Cabul or Kabul, the capital 
of Afghanistan. 

embarked.] Like a ship putting out to sea on a new voy- 
age. 

Bhola.] Mini’s attendant. 

Protap Singh.] Rabindranath Tagore pictures himself as 
engaged in writing a novel, full of wild adventures. 
These names are made up to suit the story, 
so precarious.] The writer amusingly imagines the hero 
and heroine actually swinging by the rope until he can 
get back to his desk and finish writing about how they 
escaped. 

Abdurrahman.] The Amir of Kabul. 

Frontier policy.] The question about guarding the North- 
West of India against invasion, 
without demur.] Without making any objection, or ask- 
ing for more money. 

judicious bribery.] He gave her little presents, judging 
well what she would like best, 
new fangled.] The parents had not talked about such 

223 


224 


NOTES 


things, as old-fashioned people would have certainly 
done. 

euphemism.] This means, in Greek, “ fair speech.” Here 
it means a pleasant word used instead of the unpleasant 
word “jail.” 

kings went forth.] During the hot weather the kings of 
ancient India used to stay at home: they would begin 
to fight again at the beginning of the cold weather. 

my heart would go out.] That is to say, he would long 
to see such places. 

fall to weaving.] This is an English idiom, like “ set to 
it means to begin. 

conjure themselves.] Just as the conjurer makes all kinds 
of things appear before the eyes. 

vegetable existence.] Vegetables are rooted to the ground. 
So Rabindranath is rooted to his desk and cannot make 
long journeys. 

As it was indefinite.] Because there was no actual reason 
for it. Indefinite here means vague. 

forbid the man the house.] This is a brief way of saying 
forbid the man to enter the house. 

bebagged.] This word is made up for the occasion, and 
means “ laden with bags.” Compare the words be- 
dewed, besmeared. 

just where.] The word “ just ” has become very com- 
monly used in modern English. It means “ exactly,” 
“ merely ” or “ at the very moment.” Compare “ He 
had just gone out.” “ It was just a joke.” 

Scarcely on speaking terms.] Rabindranath Tagore is 
here making a joke; “not to be on speaking terms” 
means usually “ to be displeased with.” Mini had be- 
come so eager to talk with her girl friends that she had 
almost neglected her father. 

Durga.] The Durga Festival in Bengal is supposed to rep- 
resent the time when Parvati, or Durga, left her 
father’s home in the Himalayas, called Kailas, and went 
to live with her husband, Siva. 


THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 225 

Bhairavi.] One of the musical tunes which denotes sepa- 
ration. 

chandeliers.] The glass ornamental hangings on which 
candles were lighted in great houses at weddings. 

better-omened.] It was not considered a good omen, or 
good fortune, to meet a criminal on a wedding day. 

dispersed.] Used up. 

Parbati.] Another allusion to the Goddess Durga and her 
home in the Himalayas. 

apparition.] This word comes from the same root as the 
word to “ appear.” It means a sudden or strange sight. 
It often means a ghost. Mini had so changed that 
when she appeared in her wedding dress she startled 
him, as if he had seen a ghost. 

make friends with her anew.] His own daughter would 
not know him at first. 

Saw before him the barren mountains.] His memory 
was so strong that it made him forget the crowded Cal- 
cutta street and think of his home in the mountains. 


II. — THE HOME-COMING 

every one seconded the proposal.] All were so eagerly 
in favour that they wanted to speak at once in support 
of it. 

regal dignity.] His position as a king of the other boys. 

fertile brain.] Full of inventions and plans. 

manoeuvre.] A French word meaning a plan of battle. 

point of honour.] He would feel himself disgraced if he 
gave way. 

Mother Earth.] Earth is here pictured as a person. 
There is a well-known story of a giant who gained 
fresh power every time his body touched the earth, 
which was his Mother. 

Furies.] These were supposed to be certain demons, who 
pursued guilty men with loud cries. 


226 


NOTES 


the servant was master.] Notice the play of words here. 
The “ servant ” and “ master ” change places. 

critical juncture.] At this exact moment when things 
were so dangerous. 

Dada.] The usual Bengal word for “ Brother.” 

no love was lost.] This is a mild way of saying that they 
disliked one another. 

on pins and needles.] Exceedingly restless; like some one 
standing on sharp points. 

in perpetuity.] The phrase is a mock legal one, meaning 
“ for all time.” 

by no means pleased.] She was very displeased, because 
she had already children of her own. In English a 
phrase is often put in a negative way to imply a very 
strong positive statement. Thus “ by no means happy ” 
may mean “ very unhappy.” 

committing such an indiscretion.] Doing such an unwise 
thing. 

indecent haste.] A mock humorous expression, meaning 
“ very quickly.” 

craves for recognition.] Wishes to be noticed and loved. 

physical love.] Just as a young animal clings to its mother 
for protection. 

animal instinct.] The phrase repeats in another form 
what was said before, in the words “ a kind of physical 
love.” 

pursed her lips.] Drew her lips tight like the mouth of a 
purse which is tightened by pulling the string. 

as if expecting some one.] He was looking for his mother. 

very critical.] Very dangerous. The danger point of the 
illness might be reached at any moment and death might 
come. 

By the mark.] When a shallow place comes at sea, or on 
a great river, one of the sailors throws a piece of lead, 
with a string tied to it, into the water, and then looks 
at the mark on the string. He calls out that the depth 
is “ three ” or “ four ” fathoms according to the mark. 


NOTES 


227 


plumb-line.] The line with a lead weight, 
plumbing.] To plumb is to get to the bottom of a piece 
of water. Here Phatik is pictured as himself going 
deeper and deeper into the sea of death, which none can 
fathom. 

the holidays.] The Bengali word for “ holiday ” means 
also “ release.” It is as though he were saying, “ My 
release has come.” This cannot be represented in the 
English. 


III. — ONCE THERE WAS A KING 

In this story Rabindranath Tagore begins with some 
amusing sentences about the dull, matter of fact character 
of modern scientific people, who cannot enjoy a fairy story 
without asking “ Is it true? ” The Poet implies that there 
are deeper truths than modern science has yet discovered. 
The ending of the present story will show this more clearly. 

sovereign truth.] There is a play upon the word “ sover- 
eign ” which can mean “ kingly ” and also “ supreme.” 
exacting.] There is further play here with the words “ ex- 
act ” and “ exacting.” “ Exact ” means precise and 
“ exacting ” means making others precise, 
legendary haze.] The ancient legends are very obscure, 
just like an object seen through a mist, 
knowledge.] Mere book knowledge, — knowledge of out- 
side things. 

truth.] Inner truth such as comes from the heart of man 
and cannot be reasoned or disputed, 
half past seven.] The time when his tutor was due. 
no other need.] As if God would continue the rain merely 
to keep his tutor away! 

If not.] Though it might not have been caused by his 
prayers, still for some reason the rain did continue, 
nor did my teacher.] Supply the words “ give up.” 


228 


NOTES 


punishment to fit the crime.] An amusing reference to 
the doctrine of karma , which states that each deed will 
have its due reward or punishment. 

as me.] Strictly speaking it should be “ I ” not “ me ” but 
he is writing not too strictly. 

I hope no child.] The author here amusingly pretends 
that the child’s way of getting out of his lessons. was 
too shocking for young boys in the junior school to read 
about. 

I will marry my daughter to him.] The verb to 
“ marry ” in English can be used in two senses: — 

(1) To wed some one: to take in marriage. 

(2) To get some one wedded: to give in marriage. 
The latter sense is used here. 

in the dawn of some indefinite time.] In some past ex- 
istence long ago. 

If my grandmother were an author.] Here Rabindra- 
nath returns to his mocking humour. A modern au- 
thor, he says, would be obliged to explain all sorts of 
details in the story. 

hue and cry.] This is a phrase used for the noise and 
bustle that is made when people are searching for a 
thief. 

Her readers.] Referring back to the Grandmother. 

in an underhand way.] Under the disguise of a fairy 
story. 

grandmother again.] That is, in the old conditions when 
people were not too exacting about accuracy. 

luckless grandson. A humorous way of referring to him- 
self. The author had the misfortune to be born in the 
modern age of science. 

Seven wings.] The word “ wings ” is here used, not for 
“ wings ” like those of birds, but for the sides of a large 
building, projecting out at an angle from the main 
building. 

But what is the use. . . .] The author here breaks off 
the story, as though it were useless to go on any further 


NOTES 


229 

in these modern days when every thing has to be scien- 
tifically proved. 

Some “ what then? ”] Some future existence about which 
explanations might be asked. 

no grandmother of a grandmother.] No one, however 
old. 

never admits defeat.] Refuses to believe in death. 

teacherless evening.] Evening on which the teacher did 
not come. 

chamber of the great end.] Death itself is referred to; 
it is the end of human life on earth and what is beyond 
death is shut out from us. 

incantation.] Sacred verses or mantras. 

IV.— THE RETURN OF THE CHILD 

found two masters.] The wife was his master now, as 
well as her husband. 

make for safety.] Get to some place where he could not 
be caught. 

will be a judge some day.] The baby seemed so wise to 
Raicharan, that he thought he would certainly grow up 
to be a judge. 

epoch in human history.] It seemed to Raicharan as 
though some great event had happened which ought to 
be recorded. 

wrestler’s trick.] The writer, in fun, makes Raicharan’s 
skill depend on doing just what the, wrestler tries to 
avoid, i.e. being thrown on his back. 

swallowed down.] Washed them away in a flood. 

little despot.] The baby, who was able to make Raicharan 
do exactly what he liked. 

The silent ceremonial.] The author pictures the sunset 
as like some splendid kingly ceremony, where every 
gorgeous colour can be seen. 

“ Pitty fow.”] “ Pretty flower.” The baby can only lisp 
the words. 


NOTES 


230 

He was promoted from a horse into a groom.] He was 

no longer asked by the baby to be a “ horse ” in his 
games, but to look after this toy carriage, as a groom 
would. 

with all sorts of curious noises.] He began to imitate the 
sounds of birds. 

destined to be a judge.] The baby could see through 
Raicharan ’s attempts to deceive, as a judge would see 
through false evidence. 

wavelets.] The little waves seemed like so many thousand 
little children running away in fun or mischief. 

there was no one there.] These words are repeated again 
and again to give the sense of utter loss and desolation. 

overwhelming resentment.] His own baby seemed to 
have been given to him in order to tempt him to forget 
his little Master. Raicharan was angry to think that 
any one could imagine such forgetfulness to be possible. 

The little Master could not cast off the spell.] Could 
not keep away from the servant who loved him so much. 
He fancies his little Master has come back to life again 
in this new little baby, drawn as it were by some en- 
chantment of love. 

accumulated.] Gathered together: referring to the idea of 
karma. 

personal appearance.] He spent a long time in arranging 
his clothes and making himself look handsome. 

country manners.] Country people have habits and ways 
of speaking which seem absurd to town people. 

a kind of condescension.] As if he were superior and 
Raicharan were beneath him. 

mendicant quack.] A beggar dealing in herbs and medi- 
cines and charms. 

hungry, eager eyes.] As if she could never gaze long 
enough upon him. 

the magistrate in him.] The magistrate’s way of looking 
at things. 


NOTES 


231 

magisterial conscience.] His instincts as a judge, who 
must condemn the guilty. 

V.— MASTER MASHAI 

Ratikanta.] He is represented throughout as a typical 
hanger-on of the rich family, selfish and flattering. 

Victor Hugo.] The most famous of Victor Hugo’s stories 
is called “ Les Miserables.” Its opening scene of San 
Valjean and the saintly Bishop is very well known in 
literature. 

deep-laid plot.] Notice how throughout this story the dif- 
ferent members of this wealthy house appear to be un- 
able to take account of unselfish motives. 

this is sheer kidnapping.] Adhar Babu believes that 
Haralal has acquired some hypnotic influence over Venu 
and is trying to rob him of his money. 

brokers and middlemen.] Those who bought the grain 
from the peasants and sold it to the English firm. 

any security.] A money payment which would be for- 
feited if anything went wrong. 

a note of hand.] A paper signed by Venugopal saying that 
he owed so much money. 

filed a suit.] Brought an action in the law courts against 
the father to recover the money lent to the son. 

Currency notes.] Notes of twenty, fifty, a hundred rupees, 
— such as could be changed for money. 

theft the night before.] Adhar Babu had already missed 
the things that Venu had taken away. 

it’s a paying business.] Adhar Babu imagines that Venu 
and Haralal have become partners in order to swindle 
other people. 

with your connivance.] With your secret knowledge and 
approval. 

Deliverance was in the infinite sky.] He felt that all 
the evils, which were pressing close around him, were 


232 


NOTES 


broken through and that he had come out beyond them 
into the clear light of truth. It was like coming out of 
some narrow confined place into the open sky. 

VI. — SUBHA 

Subhashini.] Sweetly speaking. 

Sukheshini.] With lovely hair. 

Suhashini.] Sweetly smiling. 

process of translation.] To change the unspoken lan- 
guage of thought into the spoken language of words is 
like translating the mother tongue into a foreign lan- 
guage. Much of the beauty is lost. 

that speech of the dark eyes.] Nature was speaking in 
every part of her own great being, in the same silent 
way as those dark eyes of Subha were speaking. 

without any common language.] The cows had the com- 
mon language of looks with which to talk to Subha. 
But Pratap, who could speak, had not learnt Subha’s 
language of looks. 

they become public property.] Everyone can amuse him- 
self by talking with them in idle moments. 

water nymph.] Referring to the legends, common in all 
countries, of water fairies or mermaids living at the 
bottom of a river or beneath the sea and dwelling in 
wonderful palaces. 

tide from the central places of the sea.] When the moon 
is full, the tide rises to its highest point: it seems to 
start from some central place far out at sea and to come 
rolling and surging in. 

silent troubled Mother.] Nature, with her full tide and 
full moon, seems troubled and longing to break out into 
speech, just as Subha longed to do. 

they have caught your bridegroom.] Pratap employs the 
word “ caught ” from his favourite pursuit of fishing. 
The bridegroom has been caught just like a fish. 

did her best to kill her natural beauty.] Her hair was 


NOTES 


233 

much more beautiful when left in its natural way, in- 
stead of being all bound up in a net. 

The God . . . the great man.] These words refer to the 
bridegroom himself, who wields such mighty powers of 
choice or refusal. They are ironical. 

VII.— THE POSTMASTER 

like a fish out of water.] Completely out of place, because 
he was used to city life. 

macadamised road.] He would have infinitely preferred 
the streets and shops and crowded markets of Calcutta. 

smoke . . . from the village cowsheds.] Such as is used 
to drive away the mosquitoes. 

Banl.] A religious sect in Bengal whose members sing 
songs and often go about begging. 

No more of this.] He was afraid he might become too 
deeply attached to Ratan if he stayed. 

Its fond mistakes are persistent.] We continually try 
to deceive ourselves that what we wish to be true is 
true. When at last we find out the truth, we could 
almost wish we had not done so. 

VIII. — THE CASTAWAY 

Like a rudderless boat.] Notice how the metaphor is 
kept up to the end of the sentence. 

The writ of Fate.] They said that if she was to die, she 
was to die, and nothing could prevent it. 

profiting their Brahmin guest.] She would believe this 
to be an act of merit for which she would be rewarded. 

out of his repertory.] Out of the stock of plays he re- 
cited when he belonged to the theatrical troupe. 

hearing sacred names.] This also, she believed, would 
bring her merit. 

forcing house.] Like some glass conservatory used for 
exotic flowers. 


NOTES 


234 

exact stature.] The manager wished him to take the parts 
of women who are smaller than men. 

came to adequate revelation.] Were now abundantly 
apparent. 

twice-born bird.] Once born in the egg and once after 
the breaking of the egg. The goose in the story was 
the messenger between Nala and Damayanti. 

the tiger has no wish to become a mouse.] A reference 
to a folk story of a saint who turned a pet mouse into 
a tiger. 

German silver.] A kind of cheap silver containing much 
alloy in it. 

to look for your Damayanti.] To find Satish a wife. 

IX.— THE SON OF RASHMANI 

do the duty of the father.] By disciplining and punishing 
the child. 

crippling his patrimony.] Injuring the estate. 

this is preposterous.] The natural thing would be for the 
property to be divided between the two brothers and 
their descendants, but by this will only one son was 
recognized and one set of grandsons. 

given to the grandsons.] To Shyama Charan’s and Bha- 
vani’s sons. According to this preposterous will Bha- 
vani was left out altogether, and also his son. 

Shyama Charan’s treachery.] She fully believed that he 
had stolen the will and put this false one in its place. 

Noto used to get reprimands.] Used to be blamed for 
wishing to save this waste of money. Of course the 
whole thing was imaginary, but it gave Bhavani the 
pleased feeling of being generous. 

traditional extravagance.] Such as had always been dis- 
played in former days when the family was prosperous. 

Some imaginary dog.] She would say that some dog had 
run off with the food which she had prepared. 

Bhavani had confessed.] Rashmani, Noto and Bhavani 


NOTES 


235 


himself were all alike ready to keep up the illusion that 
the old magnificence was still there, if only this or that 
accident had not deprived them of its display, 
invisible ink.] Ink which is invisible when first written 
with, but when heated becomes visible. 

Baba, wait a little.] In Bengal daughters are often called 
Ma (mother) and sons Baba (father), 
it became absurdly easy.] Because, after this, both the 
mother and her son could join in the pretence together, 
lacking in proper enthusiasm.] Did not care much about 
the subject. 

more than compensated.] The pleasure of telling the 
news was greater than the pain of knowing that such a 
sacrilege was going to take place, 
with all the more deadly force.] The thrower being up 
above, the speed would increase all the more on the 
downward flight of the missile, 
requiring expensive fodder.] Vanity can feed itself on 
the idea of self importance. 

to graze at large.] Merely to feed on what is before it. 
He gave it extra food by paying for a number of flat- 
terers, just as a horse is stall-fed with extra supplies of 
food. 

turned round on him.] His vanity would be offended and 
he would be his enemy instead of his helper, 
forced extravagance.] Kalipada had been forced by the 
sneers of the students to give far more than he could 
afford. 

draw tears from the eyes.] An amusing way of saying 
that no burglar would ever dream of trying to rob such 
a room. 

laid their impious hands.] Had grossly insulted, 
let him climb down first.] An English metaphor mean- 
ing “ let him be humble.’’ 

he discovered the truth.] The truth that he was a near 
relative of Kalipada. 

grandchild’s privilege.] Especially in Bengal, a grand- 


236 


NOTES 


child is allowed the liberty of making jokes with his 
grandfather. 

he found it easy.] He loved his mother so much that 
when he found anyone pleased with things which she 
had made he enjoyed seeing them use these things 
rather than himself. 

X._ THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 

the days before the flood.] The word “ antediluvian ” 
meaning “ before the flood,” is used sometimes in Eng- 
lish for things very ancient and out of date. There is 
a play upon this here. 

dazzling outburst.] Just as, at a firework display, pitch 
darkness follows the last firework. 

drawing his heavy cheques.] To “ draw a cheque ” is 
to take so much from a credit account in the bank. 
The words are humorously used here of taking some- 
thing from the public belief about the greatness of the 
Babus of Nayanjore. 

and er-er.] He hesitates a little as he mentions the ladies. 

Thakur Dada.] Grandfather. 

my moral character was flawless.] Note how the author 
shows the conceit of this young man. Compare, lower 
down, the phrase “ because I was so good.” 

poet Bhabavuti.] The poet means that there must be some 
one in this vast universe of time and space who is the 
match for the hero of his poem. 

Chota Lat Sahib.] The story refers to the time when 
Calcutta was the Capital of India. The Burra Lat 
Sahib was the Viceroy, the Chota Lat Sahib was the 
Lieutenant-Governor. 

walking backward.] As a mark of respect. He was con- 
tinually bowing and then stepping back. This kind of 
ceremonial bowing was commoner in earlier days than 
it is now. 

tall silk hat.] These were only worn in India at State 


NOTES 


237 


functions and their use in this country by Englishmen 
is becoming more and more rare. But in earlier days 
they were not uncommon. They are black in colour 
and shining. 

ugly modern custom.] The author dislikes the passing 
away of an old beautiful custom of reverence towards 
old men. 

becoming an epic.] Becoming legendary by its additions. 
An epic poem often goes on describing an incident with 
all kinds of marvellous events added to it, till it be- 
comes a very long story. 


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